


All I Want for Christmas is You (and You, and You)

by aimmyarrowshigh, spibsy (lucy_and_ramona)



Series: First Street 'verse [2]
Category: One Direction (Band), Union J (Band), X Factor (UK) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Bakery, Baking, Christmas Fluff, Coffee Shops, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Gift of the Magi, M/M, Multi, Puppies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:51:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucy_and_ramona/pseuds/spibsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas on First Street is a magical time of year, where the snow dusts the rooftops and fairy lights drape over the windows and sometimes, just sometimes, everybody gets exactly what they want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All I Want for Christmas is You (and You, and You)

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Mild language. Although it's not set in the UK, per se, so there isn't any Britpicking -- it's sort of set nebulously, like Lemony Snicket's books or something. There's also one dirty joke and three mild swears, I think.  
>  **Disclaimer** : We don't own anything. No claim of knowledge or veracity is made towards anyone in the story and no aspersions or claims of character are to be inferred. We have no connection nor permissions from One Direction, X-Factor, Simon Cowell, SyCo Inc., Sony, ITV, or Columbia Records. No libel intended.

** All I Want for Christmas is You (and You, and You...) **

When winter hits First Street, it's not all at once: first the frost draws patterns on the windows of the thrift store like Louis is Jack Frost himself, and then the customers at George's coffee counter start needing peppermint for invigoration and spicy chai for warming up their red noses. JJ starts getting in trades for tangled skeins of fairy lights and tin angels, and Jaymi and Zayn start shipping boxes of Cliff Richards and the Military Wives, to their own disgruntlement. Liam and Ella sell songbooks of carols.

And then the snow comes and covers up all of the wet, marshy gray of not-quite-rain with white. It rests in the curls of the wrought iron lampposts and makes the bellies of all of the awnings sag, and early every morning sees Harry and Liam and Jaymi out in front of their shops with brooms and mittens and eyelashes dusted with snowflakes, sweeping the walkways clear to lay down green mats.

First Street doesn't become any less picturesque in the winter months, only a different sort; a snowy, twinkling greeting card. Everyone bundles up in bulky coats and mittens and scarves, ducking into the shops and sighing in relief when they hit the warmth. 

It should be strange, that people become more cheerful when it gets so bitterly cold, but they do and it isn’t. Smiles are offered more freely as anticipation builds toward the holidays, the people eager to give and receive in ways that they aren't, quite, in the months before and after.

There's less of a rush on the island than there had been in the city, too, and it seems like here, everyone is more relaxed -- rather than letting the impending crush of holidays loom like a stressful ghost, the bows and bangles that appear on most of the shop windows seem like genuine cheer.

At any time, it's likely that one could pass the music shop and hear Ella playing from a book of Christmas Carols for the piano, and if one listens closely enough, it's easy to make out Liam humming along with the melody.

The bakery smells even more heavenly this time of year, and it's busier than ever with its warm buttery light and inviting scent of ginger and sour stone fruits and braided egg breads.

Looking through the plate glass at the front of the thrift shop would find Louis and Josh bickering, of course, over where to string lights, and whether or not wearing a green jumper with red trousers counts as being festive.

JJ and Niall are swamped -- swamped to the point that Niall actually has to bring his own breakfast and they stay until long after the lamps have turned on, cataloguing and haggling and inventorying and, more often than not, marking down shrinkage in stolen items.

The music that plays over the sound system doesn't change much at Trax, apart from a few sporadic winter-themed songs peppered throughout: Winter Wonderland and Goodbye England (Covered in Snow). Sometimes it's possible to see Jaymi dragging a reluctant Zayn into a messy waltz as the music plays on in the background.

Night falls early, and light spills from every window, neat little boxes on the sidewalk that play out like shadowboxes. Harry and George watch from their own window, and know that they aren't the only magic this time of year.

 ** _001._**  
Ella's just walking to work with her tea when she finds it. 

(Well, she amends with a sigh as she sips from her takeaway cup, it was _supposed_ to be tea, but apparently George thinks what she needs today is a hot chocolate. George thinks what everyone needs every day is a hot chocolate, so it's not really surprising, and it _is_ delicious.)

She's stopped on the sidewalk to open her cup and fish out a trapped, half-melted marshmallow when she hears the tiniest, saddest little mewl from nearly under the snow.

She freezes and listens more intently and -- there it is again, a little cry, one she never would've heard if she'd been walking because it's so quiet. 

"Oh," she whispers when she spies the source, halfway inside a snow drift and barely moving: the smallest puppy she's ever seen.

Its ears are the size of her thumbnail but its eyes look huge. Ella sets her cup down -- she can get a new drink from George later, and maybe even the one she's asked for -- and kneels right in the snow to hold out her ungloved hand for the puppy to sniff.

It gives her fingers a pathetic little lick, and then rests its head on her hand like it's too much effort to hold it up anymore. Ella's heart feels like it breaks in her chest.

"You poor thing," she whispers, and scoots closer. "Come on up, let's get you warm, alright?"

The puppy doesn't respond, obviously, and it doesn't squirm when she digs out the snow around it. Part of that might be because it can't feel its legs, and she works with more urgency, finally lifting the puppy with shaking hands and holding it -- she checks quickly and decides, _him_ \-- close to her chest.

"You're okay," she murmurs, maybe too hopefully. She unbuttons her coat and nestles the puppy in close to her chest with the coat wrapped over it like a blanket as she runs the rest of the way to the music shop.

"Liam!" she calls as soon as she's inside, the heat hitting her like a wave. She knows Liam's here; he always manages to get here before she does, even if she leaves deliberately early. She's started to suspect Harry calls him when she's in to get her morning tea to make sure he beats her there.

Playful competitions aren't what's important now, though. "Liam!" she calls again.

Liam smiles at her as he walks out of the back room, still unwrapping his scarf. The end of his nose is pink, and so are the tops of his ears. "What's up?"

"Look," she says urgently, unwrapping her coat enough that the puppy's little head peeks over the edge of it. "I found him in the snow, half-frozen to death."

"Oh, gosh." Liam's brows draw together and he comes around the counter to tentatively touch the puppy's head. "Well, we should get him warm. And some food, shouldn't we? Is he -- he's alive, right?"

"Yeah, he's still alive. I thought, when I first found him -- he sounded so sad, Liam," Ella whispers. "Dozens of people walk the same path I take, how did nobody notice him? What if I hadn't?"

Liam just smiles at her encouragingly and rubs her arm. "But you did. That's what counts."

Ella lets out a shaky breath. "You're right, that is what counts," she agrees. "Can you run some water from the tap for him? Do we have anything he could eat?"

Liam tilts his head. "I have a bacon sarnie. He could eat the bacon, I guess, couldn’t he?"

"Dogs like bacon, I think. If you don't mind? I can get you another from the bakery in a little while. Maybe he’s too young for it, though, and needs milk." Ella strokes over the puppy's shivering head. His eyes are closed, but he's still breathing. She hopes that means he'll be alright. "Might as well try. I'm more worried how to get him warm enough. His little paws are cold."

"I think all you can do is just keep holding him," Liam advises. "Zayn knows loads about dogs; do you want me to call him? He might know."

"He won't be awake yet, will he?" Ella estimates the time in her head. Trax doesn't open as early as the music shop does, and they all know Zayn likes his sleep. "Once he gets in, we will," she decides. "Until then we just have to keep him warm and give him some water and food. That's all I can think to do."

Liam nods and rubs Ella's arm again before carefully brushing her hair back from her shoulder so the puppy doesn't get tangled in it. "You can take a seat behind the counter with him, and I'll bring you that food straight away." He pauses and gives her a smile. "It's really good you were there."

Ella flushes a little, because she always does when Liam gives her praise of any sort, and smiles back at him. "I'm just glad I was," she says, before taking her seat and carefully cuddling the puppy closer. She rubs one of his paws between her fingers to try and warm him up a little.

The puppy opens his eyes and looks up at Ella. He whimpers again pathetically and nudges his worryingly dry nose against her wrist.

"It'll be alright, sweetie," she whispers, and she has to hope that's true. Lying to a puppy sounds like an eighth sort of sin. "I promise; we've got food and water for you."

He whimpers again and Ella gently pets the tufty top of his head. Once he gets cleaned up and gains a little weight, he'll be a rather beautiful little dog, but at the moment his fur is sopping wet with melted snow and he's all tangled and matted.

"Do we have any towels?" Ella asks before she remembers the cloths they use to clean up the brass instruments. Without jostling the puppy too much, she eases herself out of the chair and over to the supply cupboard, ducking to find a clean polishing cloth. 

"Here you go," she says softly, rubbing his head and down his neck with the yellow scrap of fabric. "Let's get you dry, at least."

He seems to perk a little at that, even if he's barely moving still. His eyes light up at least, and Ella can see now that one is bright, clear blue, and the other dark brown.

"You're a handsome little thing," she coos. "Aren't you? Yes, and very sweet, too."

"Thanks," jokes Liam as he swings back around from the back room. He has a little bowl -- she recognizes it as the shallow one they usually have filled with sugar for tea -- of water, and a neatly wrapped sandwich in hand. "I wasn't sure if he'd be able to lift his neck much, and this is the shortest bowl we have," he says apologetically.

Ella smiles at Liam as she warms with affection for him. "I'm sure it will be fine. Thank you so much, Li."

Liam beams back at her with one of his scrunchy-eyed smiles. "Glad to help." He sets the small bowl on the counter and unwraps his sandwich, flattening out the paper for it and beginning to rip of little pieces of bacon from inside the roll.

Ella doesn't want to have to let the puppy go just as he's starting to seem warmer, but she doesn't think he can drink if she's holding him. She fashions the little rag around him like a cape and sets him down on the counter very near the makeshift water dish.

It takes a moment of nosing and cautious, slow movements, but the puppy toddles forward on his tiny legs enough to set his chin on the edge of the bowl. His tongue flickers out, and laps at the water.

"Yay!" Ella cheers softly. She pets the top of the puppy's head with one finger. "Oh, I'm so relieved."

She looks up to share her happiness with Liam, and he's smiling, but it's at her, not the puppy.

"Erm," he says after a moment. "How much of this do you think he can eat? It's bigger than him, looks like."

Ella laughs, and it's probably louder than warranted just because she's so _glad_. He's not out of the woods yet, of course, but she's just relieved enough to see him moving about. "I don't know, really. I've never had a dog. I always wanted one, though."

"Me, too," Liam agrees. "I had one for a while, but I don't anymore. Felt too bad leaving him at home alone while everyone was at work."

Ella nods and keeps petting the bitty puppy. He lets out a hiccup into the water bowl and jumps, startled; Ella can feel his heart racing.

"It's okay," she soothes, stroking a finger down his back. She can feel all the little knobs of his spine, all the way to the tail wagging weakly against the countertop in little twitches.

"Here." Liam holds out the bacon on a paper towel. "See if he can eat. Erm, maybe he might be sick if he hasn't had food in a while?" He shakes his head. "I'll get more rags."

"Thanks, Liam," Ella says softly, taking the paper towel and trying to give him a hug with her eyes.

"Hey, little guy, d'you want some food?" Ella asks, and holds a bit of bacon towards the puppy. His nose twitches and he toddles forward a bit in his cleaning cloth cape. It doesn't look like his back legs work properly -- maybe he'd been in the snow too long, Ella frets.

She tells herself he'll be alright, because she'll cry if he won't. Maybe he just has a penguin walk naturally. Maybe some puppies do. The puppy gobbles at the bacon between her fingers greedily and actually yips once in thanks, a tiny little noise.

Ella beams at him. "That's so good! D'you want more?"

The puppy can't answer, but he's licking her fingertips hopefully and giving her _actual_ puppy-dog eyes. She'll have to tell George he's pretty damn close to the real thing.

Ella puts another bit of bacon in the flat of her palm and the puppy grabs it gratefully, little nose and whiskers tickling her hand.

He's so cute, and she knows he'll only get even cuter when he's well again. "Should we give him a name?" she asks. "I feel bad just calling him 'him' or 'it'."

Liam blinks like she's stirred him from a reverie, which is fairly common in Liam. "Oh. Yes, I think you should."

"He could be called Niall, the way he's eating." Ella laughs and puts a little more bacon in her hand. "I don't want to give him too much..."

Liam laughs. "I think that would just give Niall a big head. And that's bad, as it'd make him a bigger mouth to feed."

"I don't know if anything could give him a bigger mouth to feed." Ella shakes her head in partial disbelief, still, that anyone can eat as much as Niall can on a regular basis.

The puppy yips again and settles down, its head nudging Ella's thumb as if to say, _enough bacon, I'm sleepy_.

"Oh, you're so sweet," Ella whispers to him. She continues to pet the puppy in long, gently strokes, adjusting his little cape and letting him use her other hand as a makeshift pillow. The puppy snuffles a little, tiny quick breaths puffing reassuringly against her hand. His little snip of a tail wags once, and Ella smiles as she adjusts his little cape. She unwinds her scarf from around her neck and tucks it around the tiny puppy, too, for extra warmth and something soft, maybe, to remind him of a mother. 

"What should we name you?" she whispers to him. "Do you have any ideas?"

He doesn't seem to have any ideas, as all he does is curl up inside her scarf and snort softly.

"Let's think," Ella murmurs. "You're very cute. We could call you Fluffy. Or Fuzzy. No?"

The puppy snores. She thinks that might mean he doesn't like either of those choices.

She touches his nose gently and is relieved when it seems a little cooler than before. "You're very tiny," she says thoughtfully. "Pixie? Bitty?" She looks around the store for inspiration. Piano. No. Saxophone. No. Viola doesn't sound like a proper name for a boy puppy, she doesn't think. Neither does Flute. Or Bass Clarinet.

The puppy snuffles a little and sneezes once into Ella's hand, and it's so high-pitched and squeaky that she knows exactly the right name.

"How about Piccolo?" she asks, petting the disoriented puppy's little muzzle. "Is that a good name for you, handsome?"

He doesn't snore this time, just nuzzles into Ella's hand and she's certain that's an agreement.

"Yes, I think that's perfect," she agrees. "Once you're all warm and fed and watered, we'll have to find you a nice bed, won't we? Because you can't live in my coat pocket, even though you'd fit. It would be messy. Yes, it would."

She can't really help the way her voice drops into a coo. The same thing happens when she's around babies, and sometimes when she's around George.

She's glad that it's so early that no customers come into the store, because she's so preoccupied with Piccolo that it takes her nearly an hour before she realizes that she has no idea where Liam's gone. She supposes he might be afraid of dogs, but Piccolo is so small that he barely counts as a dog at all. He's more like a hamster that barks. And he doesn't even do that very well. He's too weak to do more than snuffle and yip a little. He's about as scary as... well, as George.

She looks up when the bell over the front door tinkles, worried that it's going to be a customer and they'll get angry about her having a dog there. It's just Liam, though, with a bulging plastic bag and a smile.

"Sorry that took so long," Liam apologizes. "I didn't mean it to. Did anyone come in?"

"No, no, too early. Everyone's still asleep, I think. Or too scared to brave all the ice. What've you got there?" she asks, her curiosity winning.

Liam goes a little pink. "Well, I was thinking -- I don't know if your building lets you have pets, but mine doesn't, so I was thinking, like. When I was a kid, there was this comics shop, that's how I met Zayn? And in the comics shop, the owners had this pet cat, Tony, like Tony Stark, you know Iron Man, because he had this white marking on his chest? Anyway, I spent so much more money in the shop than I should have because I liked to go in and play with Tony."

"Right," says Ella slowly. She thinks she knows where this is going, but if it is, she's going to have to give Liam the biggest hug ever. Her building doesn't allow pets, either.

"Well, I was thinking, like. You're so good at singing and playing piano, it's silly we just let other people put their flyers up when we could give lessons here. Or you could, I mean. And maybe people would want to come in and spend time here and sign up for lessons if there's -- maybe a puppy living here. If we keep it clean and all, since people put their mouths on instruments. Some instruments. Not pianos."

"Not pianos at all," Ella agrees absently, mostly focused on smiling at Liam. "You'd really do that, though? It's a puppy, you know. Those take a lot of care, and you've got to feed them and walk them, and love them, but that won't be a problem, will it?" she asks Piccolo, her voice dropping down again.

Liam's eyes soften and he opens up the first of his parcels: a green tartan dog bed, lined in soft tan fleece. "I don't think it'll be an issue."

Ella nearly claps before she thinks of how that will probably startle the puppy, so she grins instead. "Oh, you -- _Liam_ , you're so Liam. I can't believe you. Where'd you get that?"

Liam blushes and keeps unpacking his bags. There's a gate to keep Piccolo penned in the little office during the night; there are Milkbones and wet food and dry food and rope toys that are far, far too big. There's a little blue plush tug-toy that's small enough to fit in Ella's pocket and still dwarfs the puppy.

"That's so much," Ella whispers. "You've thought of everything. You're really serious?"

Liam shrugs and goes a little red around the ears. "I've always wanted a dog. Zayn had tons as a kid, and I was always jealous."

"Well, this can be ours, then. I -- I thought he needed a name, so, Piccolo? Because he's all little and when he's sleeping he makes these whistling noises."

Liam grins at that -- grins at Ella -- and this is probably the best day that Ella's had in years. Maybe ever. At least since the Christmas when she was five years old and got a Magic Microphone set.

"I don't know how we'll take him out, though. He's so small, I don't even know if they make collars in this size." Ella gently runs her fingers over the back of the puppy's neck.

Liam holds up one finger, then digs into his last bag. He holds up a roll of newspapers triumphantly.

"You really have thought of everything." Ella sighs and kisses first Piccolo's head, and then, after a moment, Liam's, leaning onto her toes to do it.

Liam catches Ella around the waist and hugs her once, one-armed, a little awkward but still warm and solid and very Liam about it. Then he goes pinker and turns businesslike as he says, "We'll have to find a vet, though, and I wasn't able to get a little carrier yet. I think the nearest vet is on the mainland, so we'll need one."

"I'm sure we'll find one. They make them for cats, too; my aunt had loads of cats. He'll need a little cat-sized one, I think." Ella nods firmly. "Someone will bring one around to Niall and JJ." She lights up. "They'll be so excited when we tell them!"

"I already did," Liam says. "Where do you think I got all of this?"

"All of this was at the pawn shop?" Ella asks, her eyes gone wide. "I didn't realize some of the things people bring there."

"People bring everything there," Liam says solemnly. "Not just potato noses. I think JJ just can't tell people 'no.'"

"That's true," Ella agrees. She's learned that, in her time amongst this group. JJ just doesn't like to tell people anything that will make them frown.

Liam reaches out and pets Piccolo tentatively, giving the sleeping dog a little rub on the tuft of snarled fur above his eyes. Piccolo wakes up at that and yips once, nipping at Liam's hand, and Liam grins. "Do you want to see if he likes his bed, or shall I set out the newspapers?"

"Both," Ella declares. "I don't know when the last time he did his business was, and I've got no clue how to wash a dog bed. I'll set it out, though, and we can put newspapers around it, or something?"

"I wonder if his legs are long enough to climb in and out," Liam says thoughtfully. "I took the smallest one they had, though."

"He does have squodgy little legs, doesn't he?" muses Ella. "And he sort of waddles when he tries to walk. He might just go rolling over himself if he tries to get in. Let's see."

She rubs the puppy's back and reassures herself of his little heart beating under all of his blankets and capes. He snuffles a little and turns to try to nudge at her wrist with his head. 

Ella lifts him up so Liam can spread newspapers over the counter, and she cuddles Piccolo to her chest and coos at him until it's time to set him down again and point him in the direction of his new bed.

He begins to sniff around, propelling himself on his tiny legs, and he nearly does go flipping over his head before he rights himself. Ella has to tap his bum a little to get him to move toward the bed, and he sniffs the edge of it. It does nearly come up to his head and Ella worries for a moment before he rears back and then pushes himself onto the lip of the bed.

It takes a long minute's flailing and scrabbling before he's up, but once he is, he gives himself a little tour, toddling around in a few circles, sniffing curiously.

"Liam, I'm in love," Ella whispers, her eyes bright as she watches the puppy finally turn in three concise circles, his paws padding at the soft lining of the bed before he slumps down and promptly falls asleep.

Liam smiles and kneads Ella's shoulder. "We should get him to the vet as soon as we can, in case he's ill. And he's so small, I wonder if its mother left him behind. But he is cute, isn't he? And he seems cheerful enough."

"Yeah, we'll have to find a carrier for him," Ella agrees. "And then we can get to the mainland on Sunday, maybe?"

"That sounds good," Liam says. "I can ask Jaymi if he'll cover over here since they're closed."

"Good idea!" replies Ella. "Maybe he and Zayn can do it together. Zayn'll know how to take care of a dog, anyway."

Liam flicks the end of Ella's braid. "You're brilliant. Now come on, Piccolo's asleep, and I need you to start drawing up flyers about giving piano lessons in-store if we're going to be able to afford keeping him."

"Of course." Ella gives Piccolo one last pet before she follows Liam to the back room. It's a good thing they won't get customers for a while, because there's a lot to do and not much time to do it before the sleepy street's not so sleepy anymore.

002.  
When Josh sees Liam walk back up the street from JJ's laden down with bags, through the plastic of one of which he can read the words 'All-Beef Dog Food,' he's intrigued.

"I thought we weren't allowed pets in the building?" he asks as he folds a pair of frankly horrendous orange jeans. "What've I told you about bringing in your castoffs?" he says, tossing the folded jeans down in front of Louis. "Orange isn't your color, clashes with your skin."

Louis gives Josh a wry eyebrow. "I'd never wear those. Because you're right, orange isn't my color. Orange isn't anyone's color except Harry."

"Damn him," Josh agrees. "Should I save these for Harry, then? He'd wear them and you know he would."

"I don't know if George would let him," Louis says thoughtfully. "In every context that sentence could be taken. Anyway, pets aren't allowed. Why? Did you get a rhinoceros because it reminded you of your hair?"

"Did you get a pet tidal wave because of yours?" Josh counters. "No, I just saw Liam walking past and he had dog food. Did we get a dog and I didn't notice?"

"Well, we do seem to pick up strays," Louis says. "First George, then Ella. Mangy little currs."

"You're one to talk. No, it was real dog food. All-Beef. Wonder what that's about." He frowns. "Maybe George and Harry are expanding their market."

"Oh, god, they would, wouldn't they?" Louis asks grimly. "I can see it now, our nice little town overrun by those people who put dogs in their handbags or dress them in little macs and jumpers and sunglasses. Despicable. It's just their type. They're evil."

"They'd probably dress a dog in a little mac. Even when it's not raining." Josh wrinkles his nose. "Lord help us if either of them ever get near one."

"Can you imagine? George would put them in jumpers that he thought matched their moods or whatever it is he does with the drinks."

"And start making his little foam things in the coffees into dogs. And Harry would bake tarts shaped like different kinds of terriers." Josh slowly shakes his head. "We can't ever let this happen."

"No," Louis agrees. "Whatever reason Liam's bought dog food, we need to nip it in the bud." He sets down his pricing gun. "Come on, we're going across the street and see what he's up to in his beautiful little mind. And Ella, I guess."

"Ella wouldn't let him do anything drastic, right? She's reasonable." Josh is already putting down the things he’d been folding. "I thought Liam was reasonable, before you got to him."

Louis just grins at that. "My proudest accomplishment. Unless it causes dog jumpers."

"Oh, god," Josh mumbles. "If you've caused dog jumpers, I'm never speaking to you again."

Louis flips the sign on the front door to 'Be back soon - fashion emergency!' (Josh had protested when they bought it), and they head across the street through the slush-powdery white snow.

They don't knock on the way in, because that's not the way Louis likes to do things, and Josh is additionally alarmed when they spy, on the counter, what can only be a dog bed. A small one, but a dog bed all the same.

"Oh, good lord, that's a dog in a cape," Louis says, and cowers behind Josh.

"It's a puppy in a cape," Josh corrects, squinting. "There's a puppy. In a cape. In the music shop."

"George and Harry got to them," Louis hisses. "We have to go, it's probably catching."

"I think it's sleeping." Josh ignores Louis. It's always better to do that. "It's cute, isn't it? Squishy."

"Don't you squish my puppy," Ella admonishes, appearing from beneath the piano. "And be careful around him, he was half-dead when I found him this morning. It's been an emotional day."

"It's a him, then?" Josh asks, raising his eyebrows at her. "Why's he got a cape, and please tell me you're not putting him in a little mac when it rains."

Ella's eyes light up. That can't be a good sign, even if she is pretty when she smiles. "Oh, do you think we could find a mac that small? I don't think they go down that little in size."

Louis collapses against Josh's side like he simply can't go on any longer, but Josh just steels himself and asks, "Where did it come from? What's even happening?"

"I told you. I found him this morning." Ella traipses over behind the counter, her heels clicking on the lino. "He was trapped in a snowdrift, poor thing. I thought he was dead, but I got him back here in time, I think."

That melts Josh, and he leaves Louis sort of propped in the doorway so he can go up to the counter and give the tiny puppy a little pat on the head. It sneezes at his cologne and squeaks, nearly toppling over like a baby panda.

"This would get millions of views on YouTube, you know; they love cute little animals." He crouches down so that he's not looming over the puppy so much, and strokes a finger down his back. "Has he got a name, or are you just calling him 'the puppy'?"

"Piccolo!" Ella beams and pushes Josh's hand aside so she can rub over the dog's head again and it makes a little pleased noise as it nuzzles into her palm. "Because he's little, get it. And lives in a music store."

"You're keeping him? Does Liam know?" Louis protests in a squawk. "It's not a stuffed animal, you know. He'll need food and water and a place to wee."

"That's what the newspapers are for, silly," Ella says. "Of course we're keeping him; it's not like we could just put him back out in the cold. We're not heartless over here, I don't know about you across the street."

Louis looks intensely offended. "I wasn't saying to put him back out, it's _December_. He'd freeze. Obviously. But can you take care of him here? Puppies need a lot of attention."

Ella just lifts the tiny puppy, rag-cape trailing after him like a royal, out of the dog bed and settles him on her chest, holding him with one hand as he licks at her fondly. "He's not so much trouble," she coos, and it’s obvious she's lost.

"As long as Liam's alright with it," Josh sighs. To be honest, he can see why Ella's enraptured. For being such a small dog, he's very cute, with these big eyes that blink curiously at them.

Louis still doesn't look taken in. "The _cape_?"

"He was cold!" Ella exclaims. "And it looks dashing on him." Petulantly, under her breath, she mutters, "You couldn't pull off a cape."

Louis' eyes narrow, and Josh wilts. 

This was how the ascot started.

"He'll bring in customers. Everyone loves puppies." Ella holds out the little dog until he's eye level with Louis. "Isn't he cute?"

Louis' lips twitch. "I'm a cat person. And that's even barely a dog as it is. And you can't snare me in, you minx." He sniffs. "Josh, come on. We have a perfectly clean, dander-free store to run."

Josh gives the dog a forlorn look, and pets his tiny head before nodding. "Yeah, we should be getting back. Will he be living here, then? We can't have pets at the flat."

Ella smiles and nods, stroking the dog's head. Josh sticks his head around the office wall so he can wave to Liam, and then he and Louis start back to the store.

"Don't think I didn't see your face, you're sweet on it," Louis accuses, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Don't get attached, or they'll never get rid of it."

"Why would that be so bad?" Josh asks. "We could all get store-pets. Except Harry and George, because that's probably against health code."

"Yeah, they shed enough as it is," Louis says. "But I can't believe Liam's just letting her do whatever she wants. It's his store. Or nearly. First a puppy, then piano lessons, and then what? Open mic nights?"

"I like Ella," says Josh flatly. "And it's hardly whatever she wants; they're good ideas. They bring in business. We could use ideas like that, considering how many customers you've driven away with your hideous fashion sense."

Louis actually bristles at that, his shoulders going up like a barrier, and instead of opening the door to their shop, he shoves the keys at Josh's chest and turns to storm up the street to the bakery.

Josh sighs. It's nothing he wasn't expecting but it's still annoying he'll have to set the store up on his own. Maybe Harry'll be able to appease Louis quick enough that he'll actually contribute to the folding left to be done.

Sometimes, Josh doesn't even know why he bothers when Louis isn't there. It'll all get redone as soon as he's back, even if Josh did exactly what Louis had written down for the day's itinerary, right to the letter. Louis just likes to prove Josh wrong, even if Josh is right, and even if Louis _knows_ Josh is right. He needs something to argue about and Josh is good at giving him what he needs. But it is annoying, sometimes.

A lot of the time. He likes Louis a lot, and it's been better since Ella showed up -- which is probably part of why Louis still seems determined not to admit that he likes her, either -- but picking fights on purpose eight times a day is just. Tiresome.

It was a lot easier to handle when it was just twice a day, or even when it was four times a day. It's not that Josh doesn't like a good argument -- or even that he doesn't like making Louis angry, because Louis' adorable when he's angry and Josh thinks that's hilarious. It's just that sometimes he'd like to just do his job, and go home, and relax. Sometimes he doesn't want to argue with Louis at all.

And it seems like lately, Louis wants to argue at home, too, which used to be -- well, sort of an unspoken agreement. But now it's like Louis has something to prove even just around the other boys. So instead of arguing all day at work to pass the time and then going home and being a bit of a happy compromise between HarryAndGeorge's constant nuzzling and Jaymi and Zayn's forlorn and obvious pining, now they argue all day at work and then go home and argue some more.

Josh is tired. He feels exhausted all the time now and he just, he doesn't know how to fix it because it seems like Louis is never happy now and all Josh really wants -- though he'll never say it out loud, of course -- is for Louis to be happy. Arguing makes Louis happy, so Josh argues, except now it seems like that just makes Louis more upset.

Josh sighs and unearths a box of ugly Christmas jumpers to start sorting it for sizes.

Maybe if they're all sorted when Louis gets back, he'll actually smile. He won't, but Josh can pretend for a little while.

When Louis comes back to the store, he's glowering less and he holds out a steaming mug of coffee as a peace offering.

"Thanks," Josh says quietly, holding it between his hands. It's cold in the shop because they couldn't reach a compromise about the heating, and people tend to bundle up when they go out to shop anyway. 

He blows on the coffee and then sips it. Just as sweet as he likes it. Louis does pay attention when it suits him.

Or George does. Either way, someone likes him.

It's enough to make him brighten as he leans back against the counter and checks the time. "You've got just long enough to redo the jumpers before anyone comes in," he offers.

Louis shrugs one shoulder and takes a sip of his tea. "They're fine. The blue reindeers playing volleyball, that one, could go a bit to the left."

"By a bit to the left, do you mean in the bin where it belongs?" Josh asks, legitimately surprised. Usually by now Louis' started moving everything around.

Louis makes a face. "I wouldn't wear it, but someone might. Shouldn't. But that's what ugly Christmas jumpers are all about, isn't it?"

"I guess, yeah." Josh gives Louis a suspicious look. "... Did Harry give you the funny tea again?"

" _No_." Louis sounds unimpressed, and to be fair, he's the only person who can actually get George to take his order properly most of the time.

"Right." Josh carefully pulls the reindeer jumper out of its pile and puts it down to the left of where it was, where, Josh hates to admit, it does look better. It's more of a purple-blue than a blue-green.

Louis preens a little and seems more like himself. "I told you that'd be better. I don't see why you can't just admit that I'm always right."

"Because you're hardly ever right," Josh shoots back. He takes another sip from his coffee. "I'd be lying, and it's the holidays. There's no place for lying at the holidays."

Louis' mouth pinches. "Of course there is. It's all about lying, like, 'oh yes, this 50% off pricetag isn't at all bringing us down to a 70% profit margin off wholesale' and 'oh, yes, I love eggnog and mince pies.'"

"You don't like mince pies?" Josh exclaims. It seems the thing to respond to, really. All the others would probably just end up with Louis throwing things at him. "How do you not like mince pies?"

"They're fruit and meat and lard mixed together," Louis says like it's obvious. "That's disgusting."

"That's delicious," Josh corrects. "I can't believe you don't like mince pies. I don't know if I can run a shop with someone who doesn't like mince pies."

Louis’ shoulders raise like hackles at that, and Josh isn't sure why until Louis pushes past him, causing hot coffee to splot out of the mug all over Josh's hands, and snaps, "Well, then I guess you can just run your own shop and it can be full of lard pies and puppies and _new_ things that you like better."

"Ow," is all Josh can think to say, because, really, ow. He doesn't know exactly what to do. "Fucking christ, you're out of your mind," he says after a moment, setting the now useless cup on the counter in front of him and shaking out his hands.

Louis just bangs his way into the back room. Josh can hear crashing and thumps like Louis is just throwing boxes willy-nilly.

Since there's nothing else to do just yet and no customers coming in, as the snow is coming down again outside -- Josh's chest hurts a little as he thinks _what if Ella hadn't been walking by when she was to find that puppy_ \-- Josh just dries his hands on a tissue, shoulders into his coat, and crosses the street to the music shop again. If Louis can escape to the bakery whenever he's in a tiff, Josh can go visit the dog.

At least it won't yell at him, or scald him, because it's not fucking _mental_. Josh fumes, shoving his hands into his pockets as he drops down in front of the counter. The little dog is sleeping, curled up beneath its cape. Josh can feel his ire draining a little just because of how cute it is.

The door opens, chimes tinkling as someone shuffles their way into the music shop, and the burst of cold air makes the puppy shiver and snuffle a little in its sleep.

And Josh can't help it --

He wants to give it a little sweater. Hell, he wants to _knit_ it a little sweater.

Maybe there's one around somewhere back at the store. He's sure little old ladies must knit little doggie sweaters for their little doggies to wear in the winter. That must be a thing. Or maybe he can piece one together from old sweaters -- his needlework's not bad after patching loads of clothes for the shop. He thinks he could probably do it.

Josh thumps his forehead once, quietly, on the side of the counter as he watches the puppy's little front paw bat once at the air in his sleep. "You're even eviler than Harry and George, you know," Josh tells the puppy. "Tiny sweaters? What's next?"

The puppy snorfles. Josh doesn't even know what that means. It's probably not even a word, but it's the only thing he can think of to describe the sound that comes from the snout of the puppy -- Piccolo, he remembers.

Josh laughs a little under his breath and reaches into the little basket to adjust Piccolo's cape and give him a little pet.

The door jingles again and more cold air whuffs into the music shop; Piccolo rolls over and curls up again as the smell of snow floats into the room.

"Oh." Josh looks up at the sound of Louis' guarded voice. "You're here. I thought you'd be at Jaymi's."

"No," says Josh, even though that's obvious. "I'm here. I like dogs, thought he might -- whatever." He turns back to the puppy and adjusts his cape again to cover him more adequately.

"Right." Louis looks awkward, and he's hiding something behind his back. He looks exceptionally small inside his lambskin coat.

"Yeah. Right." Josh doesn't know where to look. The puppy's not really doing anything but to leave he'll have to go past Louis, and he's not one for knocking into people and making them drop things. Or thing. Whatever Louis' holding.

Louis lifts his chin. "Well, if you don't get back, I'll have to fire you. And I don't -- actually want to."

"Of course you don't. Then there'd be nobody to mind the store while you go off in a strop," Josh mutters, sliding off of his stool and giving the puppy one last pat on his fluffy belly.

"It's not -- " Louis wrinkles pretty much his whole face as Josh starts sidling past. "Whatever. You're helpful, even if your idea of color coordination is awful."

"Just shut up," mumbles Josh. He's so tired of Louis' mood swings, and his temper, and of arguing. He's so tired. "Just shut up, Lou."

Louis actually does.

After he's gotten back to the store and started sorting through the mess of boxes Louis' only half-dragged out from the back, Josh isn't sure that's what he really wanted.

There's no way to take it back now, and Josh doesn't even know that that's what he wants, either, so he just keeps working. Christmastime's the busiest time of year, after all.

He sells two secondhand children's party dresses -- one with a flower applique he'd had to sew over a scorch mark on the bodice, but he's always thought he did a pretty nice job with the repair -- before Louis returns.

"Hey," Josh greets, his voice neutral. He offers a smile to the woman who comes in the door behind Louis. He's seen her in a few times, but not enough to know her name, just that she seems to have two children, a girl and a boy, and she always looks sad.

She gives him a hangdog smile back and starts to browse through the rack of khaki and corduroy dress slacks on the far wall.

The customers like to be left alone a lot, Josh has noticed. There are a few chattery old ladies who'll talk your ear off and a few younger guys who come in looking embarrassed but open up once they're prodded at, but usually people like to just do their shopping and get on with it.

It'd probably be easier if Louis were the same, but -- even though they fight all the time, he's _not_. Louis is so chattery and he gets along with everyone. Except Josh. 

It used to be a laugh, but now, Josh sort of thinks that what he'd like most for Christmas is just to know whether he and Louis are actually even friends.

It's not something he likes thinking about, because he honestly doesn't know. Louis seems to enjoy taking the piss out of him and arguing with him more than anything else, and it was good before because it's nice to have a way to vent frustration, and Josh likes banter as much as any other guy.

But lately he can't seem to stop wondering if Louis even _likes_ him, or if he just likes having someone to hurl abuse at and sometimes mind the shop.

Once the morning disappears and takes the snow with it, Josh looks over to Louis in the opposite corner and says, "I'm going to pick up lunch. Do you want anything?"

Louis doesn't say anything for a moment. Actually, he's been pretty quiet all morning, which is unlike him. "I'm alright," he finally says. "I got something earlier."

Josh nods and swipes his hand over his eyebrows. "Alright. I'll be back soon, then."

"Okay. Take as long as you -- alright," Louis concludes, his eyes intent on the trousers he's sorting.

Josh considers saying something, but can't decide what, so he just leaves instead and sloshes through the soft-piling snow to the bakery. He can smell ginger and lemon and roasty mince all the way down by JJ- and Niall's place.

It's one of the things he likes most about winter: how the street starts to smell, the bakery scents drifting all the way down to the end of the road. It's all pastries and fruits and baking, and Josh inhales deeply as he opens the door.

"Hi!" Harry and George chirrup as they whirl around like the choreographed tributes of the Sugar Plum fairy, Harry lifting an entire tray of sugar cookies over George's head as he ducks down to unearth a canister of whipped cream for a mocha before Harry gets too far past. Their cheery greetings would seem fake if they weren't... them.

"Hi," Josh says back, just watching them work for a minute. They really are strikingly similar to what he imagines Santa's elves would look like. "Busy?"

They both shrug, finish their orders, and push them across the counter to four separate customers at once. "Not too bad."

Josh shakes his head in amazement. "I don't know how you do it," he says appreciatively. "If we were half as busy as you I'd go out of my mind."

George just grins. "It helps that we were probably out of our minds before."

That's very true, Josh thinks. You don't smile that much without being at least a little crazy.

"Are you here for a chat or for lunch?" Harry calls. Josh can't see him anymore, since he's disappeared into the kitchen. There's a metallic bang, and then the floral smell of rosemary wafts out and fills the bakery.

"Lunch, though I won't say no to a chat if you've got any to spare," Josh admits, rubbing the back of his neck. He feels all off kilter, with Louis being weird.

George looks concerned and big-eyed and pouty. "Here." He hands Josh something on a stick. "Have a cakepop."

"Don't have a cakepop," Harry says dryly. "They're gauche; I don't care what George thinks."

Josh looks carefully at the thing. Cakepop. He supposes it could be cake, underneath all the chocolate. He looks at George, who still looks concerned and big-eyed and pouty, and then sighs, carefully biting into it.

"It's good," he says with his mouth full. "Sorry, Harry."

Harry just sighs. "Ruining the elegant tone of my nice bakery." He kisses the back of George's head as he passes, because at this point, if you aren't on board with HarryAndGeorge, then you've had to have found somewhere new to buy your bread. "The worst."

"Elegant tone?" asks Josh skeptically through a mouthful of chocolatey cake. He thinks there might be raspberry in it as well.

"Harry is a _patissiere_ ," George explains solemnly. "He thinks my taste in desserts will bring down the tone of the whole neighborhood because I like cupcakes."

"You _are_ a cupcake," Harry retorts, and slides open the glass of his pastry case to settle shimmering chartreuse gelees topped with kiwi inside. 

George just smiles at that and turns to give a mug of tea to another customer.

Josh shakes his head. "Even arguing, you two never argue."

George hums as he turns back to Josh. "Wish you had something like that, then?" he asks, and it'd be casual if George wasn't a terrible liar. "Non-argumentative?"

"I already know Louis was here at least once today," Josh says. He slumps on the countertop. "What did he say?"

George shrugs carefully and offers Josh a cup from out of nowhere. "I don't know, he doesn't pay me much mind. Looked really upset when he was talking to Harry, though."

"Thanks," Josh says, and takes the mug. He pauses with it halfway to his lips. "What is this?"

"Good," George informs him. He slides another cup across to a customer. Josh didn't even see him make the drink. "You'll like it. It's just what you need."

Josh snorts and shakes his head. "One of these days you're going to poison someone with allergies or something, you know."

George actually looks perturbed at that, and Josh feels bad. It isn't George's fault that everything's gone to shit around Josh and Louis lately.

He sighs and takes a drink. It's delicious, of course. Everything George makes is delicious, or at least everything he's let Josh taste has been.

There's a sour hint of cranberry on the finish, and for some reason, it reminds Josh of Louis. That just makes him sigh again and crumple against the side of the counter.

"What's wrong?" George asks sympathetically. "You can talk to us too, if you need to. You look sad and that's a delicious drink, so that can't be it."

Josh snorts. It _is_ a delicious drink, and when Harry slides over a basket of turkey sandwich on red berry-studded oat bread, Josh knows that they'll go perfectly together, and that's just it, isn't it? Everything Harry and George do just fits each other like a glove. Jaymi and Zayn are practically the same person. JJ and Niall balance each other's quirks; even Liam and Ella are like cogs in a new machine. It's just Louis and Josh who don't -- work.

He sighs again. He sort of just wants to sleep forever.

Instead, he picks up the sandwich and takes a bite. It's amazing, of course, and goes perfectly with his drink. Even the fucking sandwich goes well with something.

George pats Josh's shoulder. 

"He isn't pleased about it, either," George offers. "He thinks you're going to leave him."

Josh almost chokes, but manages to swallow in time. "He what?" he demands to know, his brow furrowing when he looks up at George. "How would -- where would -- I can't _leave_ him if there's not anything to -- _leave_."

"He thinks you're going to quit and he'll have to find someone new," Harry explains. "And he thinks you're going to move out because he's a slob."

"Where would I _go_?" Josh asks, bewildered. "This is the only thing I'm halfway good at. And why does he _care_? He doesn't even like me!"

Harry and George both stop at that, and turn to look at each other in perfect synchronicity. It's sort of like watching a funhouse mirror, what with their identical hair.

Josh grumbles into his sandwich and takes another bite of it. Maybe he'll let the sandwich run the shop with Louis. Louis probably wouldn't yell at it. The sandwich probably knows its blue-greens from its blue-violets.

"He does like you." Harry sounds confused. "And I like that you don't let him get away with all of his bullshit. Because everyone else does, and it makes my work harder."

Josh doesn't know if he's ever been more skeptical of anything in his life, and he makes sure to convey that in his expression. "He literally dumped hot coffee on me this morning," he states. "And he doesn't do anything but yell at me. Ever. I don't think he's said something to me that wasn't _mean_ for about a month."

"That's because he's thought for a month that you were leaving," Harry says patiently. "He's getting himself prepared."

"But that's stupid," Josh replies. He's just confused now. "Like I said before, I've got nowhere else to _go_."

"But he doesn't know that," George says. "You've never said."

"I shouldn't have to say." Josh rips off a bit of the sandwich bun and stuffs it into his mouth. "If I was going to leave I would've left ages ago, when he started wearing ascots. Now it's just like -- like he doesn't want me here, anyway, so I don't know why I'm bothering."

"But he does." Harry sounds despairing. 

"Got a funny way of showing it, hasn't he?" Josh drops the rest of his sandwich into the basket. "I just wanted to be his friend," he says under his breath. He half hopes neither of them hears him, because he feels pathetic enough just saying it to himself. "He could just -- tell me, if he didn't want that."

Harry looks unspeakably sad. "But you are. He's just an ass."

"I thought I was. I'm pretty sure I'm not, though." Josh shakes his head a little. "Sorry, I'm not really hungry anymore. I think I'll go, I'll check on the stupid dog or something."

George bounces a little, seemingly in spite of himself. "I really want to see the dog! It's all anyone's talking about today. You should text me a photo."

"I will." Josh's mouth hitches up in a barely-smile. "It's cute, I think you'll like it. Reminds me of you."

George grins winsomely, and Josh ruffles his hair once before turning to slog back through the snow to the music shop.

The warmth is inviting after the sting of the wind outside, and Josh sighs, shoulders relaxing.

He ducks down to look under the counter at the little puppy basket, where Piccolo is awake and nosing around, sniffing intently at everything and toddling on mostly his two front legs.

He's wearing a tiny red jumper and little reindeer ears along with his yellow rag-cape.

Josh lifts his hand to tuck his fingertips under the miniature jumper. "Who got you this, then?" he whispers. "It's your color, I think. Brings out your eyes."

Piccolo yips once, a little squeak, and bites Josh's finger with tiny teeth.

It doesn't hurt at all, but Josh's instinct is still to jerk away. He brings his finger back when Piccolo makes a despairing whining noise and lets the puppy gnaw on his knuckle. He thinks that's good for dogs. Teething or something.

"I hope you don't have rabies," he says thoughtfully. He snorts, though, when Piccolo looks a little indignant and topples over, his reindeer antlers slipping sideways on his tiny head.

He feels a little ridiculous, talking to a dog, but it's got to be better than another argument with Louis. He puts Piccolo's antlers on the right way round and continues, "Do you know what a friend is? I don't know if you had little doggy friends before Ella found you."

Piccolo just sneezes, so Josh figures that he didn't have friends.

"Well, I'll tell you, a friend is someone who likes you, and you like them. And they don't shout at you all the time, and they don't make you feel awful. Because that's not how friends are supposed to work. Friends are supposed to make you feel good about yourself. They're supposed to like, care about you, and just, _like_ you." Josh sighs and scoots his stool closer to the counter so he can duck closer to Piccolo. "Can I tell you a secret?" he whispers.

Piccolo bites Josh's thumb. He thinks that's a 'sure'.

"I really just want him to be my friend," Josh continues softly. "Like, I want us to fit like everyone else does. But mostly I just want to be his friend. I'd settle for that, I think."

Piccolo stops biting Josh's finger, and licks him instead. Josh rubs the top of Piccolo's head, where he can reach that isn't covered in antlers. "See? Like that."

He pauses. "Not that I want him to lick me. I just -- I guess I just wish he'd bite a little less."

Piccolo snorfles again, decides that Josh's hand makes a very good pillow, and falls asleep. 

"I see you found our mascot reindeer," Liam says wryly, and Josh looks up around the countertop. 

"I did," he confirms. "Where did he get the jumper? Did Ella buy it from JJ already?"

Liam raises his eyebrows, looking vaguely surprised. "Er, no. It's from yours; I'd've thought you knew?"

Josh's brows draw together. It's very impressive.

"What do you mean from mine?" he asks slowly. "I'm pretty sure I don't own any jumpers that little. You mean from the store? Did Ella come get it from there?"

"Louis brought it over earlier. Says he found it in a box in the back."

"Oh," Josh mumbles, looking back down at the reindeer-dog. It's really cute, the jumper and the antlers and the cape. "He did?"

Liam nods. "Said you were mentioning it'd be cute and he found it in a box of baby clothes."

Josh pets Piccolo's little head. That's... That's odd. He hadn't thought Louis was even listening to him when he'd been talking about the sweater, and even if he had, why would Louis appease him at all? He doesn't even like the puppy.

He remembers what Harry said, and then George, so he snaps a quick photo on his mobile and sends it over to George.

George sends back a load of keysmash that Josh takes to mean he approves. Josh isn't surprised; George and puppies are basically the same thing.

Especially puppies in ridiculous festive hats.

He makes a note to see if they've got any normal sized reindeer antlers for George (though George probably already has a set) and stands, carefully easing his hand out from underneath the puppy. 

"I should be getting back," he says regretfully. "Been gone a while."

Liam smiles. "Tell Louis that the jumper's gone over a smash. Piccolo seems to love it."

"Yeah, I'll let him know," Josh replies. He strokes Piccolo's snout with his thumb and offers Liam a wave. "I'll see you tonight?"

Liam nods. "Hard not to. If you see JJ, can you tell him that I'll have the other half of the payment for puppy-things by Wednesday?"

"If I see him, yeah." Josh tucks his hands back into the pockets of his coat and smiles. "I'm sure he'll make a note of it."

Liam winks, and the door tinkles as a customer comes inside and Josh lets himself out behind them. He can hear exclaiming over tiny Piccolo as the door swings shut.

He trudges his way back across the street and nudges open their door, paying close attention when Louis looks up. Before his expression closes off into one of vague curiosity, Josh can see he looks tired, and he looks bizarrely hopeful.

Josh coughs. "If you're hungry later, you should get the cranberry deal Harry and George have going today. It's good."

"I'll keep that in mind." Louis sounds dry, or maybe he sounds grateful. It's getting hard for Josh to tell anymore.

Josh nods. He straightens a few festive Christmas baby onesies on a display table. 

"Do you know," he starts, "Somehow they've already managed to find a jumper for that dog across the street?"

It's only because he's looking out the corner of his eye that he sees the way Louis' movements become cautious. "Have they?" he asks. He's good, Josh concedes. His voice sounds perfectly casual.

"And reindeer antlers," Josh continues. "Can you imagine? The horror."

Louis sort of shrinks in on himself from what Josh can see. "Yeah. Sounds awful. Can't bear to think about it."

"I'm just worried about George," Josh says. "I don't know how he'll cope with not being the cutest, fuzziest thing on the street anymore."

"I'm sure he'll manage," Louis says. He's been getting quieter and quieter for the whole conversation.

"Well, I shan't," Josh says. "I'll have to stay over here even more so I never have to be around that sort of tooth-aching cuteness, won't I?"

"S'pose." Louis shrugs. "I thought you liked the puppy, why the sudden change of heart? Didn't you want to like, go live with it and make a new family of puppies and eyebrows?"

Josh pulls a face. "How does your world even work?" He shakes his head. "No. I do like it, but we could never manage a puppy in a clothing shop. We'd have to have one of those rollers with the sticky paper for taking stray hairs off everything all the time."

Louis sort of sniffs. "Exactly. And it'd piss on all the trousers, and like, eat the baubles off the terrible jumpers."

Josh smiles and ducks his head. "Yeah, really. Better to keep things as they are around here, isn't it?"

"Yeah. Exactly. A puppy would be a terrible mascot for a clothing shop." Louis slides a shirt onto a hanger and hooks it beside another.

Josh takes a bright green jumper with red scalloped edging and a massive, holofoil snowman emblazoned on the front off of a hanger and holds it up to his chest. "Could I pull this off, d'you think?"

Louis looks at it, and then looks Josh in the eye and without even blinking, says: "Definitely."

003.  
When JJ gets in to the shop after picking up lunch, two paper-wrapped sausage and cheese sarnies tucked into the breast of his heavy coat, there's a tumbling sound, a crash, and a yelp of, "Jayj! Help me! I'm being eaten by electricals!"

JJ would move more quickly but, well, he's used to this. Instead he just sighs and puts the sandwiches on the counter before he swings around to head into the back of the shop.

"Have you broken anything?" he asks. "Bones or merchandise?"

"No -- agh, fuck." Another thump. "It's got me legs!"

"Stop squirming, you'll just make it worse!" JJ tries his hardest not to laugh when he finally comes upon Niall. He looks very grumpy, tangled up in various wires and plugs. JJ leans against the wall and observes for a moment. "Well, you've got yourself in a mess."

"I'm trying to fix the fairy lights," Niall grumps. A few of the strands are even lit, coiled around him. He looks sort of like a Disney cartoon sidekick gone three-dimensional.

"Doing a good job of it," JJ notes. None of the strands had been lit before, he knows that. Niall must be doing _something_ right, at least. "Need some help?"

"I can't find my hands." Niall flails a little and the lights jingle and clacker a bit like out of tune sleigh bells.

"They're underneath the fairy lights, probably," JJ informs him. "I'm sure if you look hard enough, they'll turn up."

Niall gives JJ an impressively threatening dry look for someone so blond and cherubic and wrapped in fairy lights.

"Alright, alright," JJ soothes, stepping closer and crouching to attempt to figure out where one strand ends and another begins. "How'd you even get so tangled up? Were you trying to play hide and seek with yourself?"

"No, I lost one end and turned about to find it and then I dropped the other and it was like pickup sticks after that."

"I was always terrible at that game," JJ remembers absently. "Shaky hands. Alright, let's see if we can't get you sorted, then." He picks up one strand and tries to follow it to a conclusion, but keeps running into knots or Niall's limbs.

"Can you at least unplug me?" Niall begs after a while, flopping sadly like a netted fish. "The turned on bits are too hot."

" _What_ kind of filth have I stumbled onto?" Jaymi asks loudly, his head popping over a stack of old Hardy Boys books. They hadn't even heard the bell on the door over the clackering of Niall's distress.

JJ frowns a little once he registers Jaymi's question. "There's no filth. We've just had the whole place cleaned; it's inspection season."

"I love your little mind, JJ," Jaymi says fondly. "I feel like it would be a nice place to vacation. Anyway, what's happened here? Why is Niall decorated like a Christmas tree?"

"Oh, we've decided to have him up in the corner of the shop. Won't drop needles everywhere, though he doesn't quite smell like pine, either." JJ shares a smile with Jaymi. "Anything I can do for you, or can you help me with untangling?"

"Erm, I did come to make a sale, but I can help free Niall first," Jaymi says. "I have to say, I did always think I'd say that sentence but that it'd be getting him out of jail, not decorations."

"This jail's much twinklier than ordinary jail," Niall agrees. "And hotter." He winces and jerks his elbow away from a presumably hot bunch of lights.

Jaymi sighs. "Where's the socket?" He shakes his head. "I don't even need to know how this happened."

JJ looks at him a bit blankly. "I'm sure it's somewhere," he mutters, peering into the corner of the room nearest Niall. "There are a few in this room but I don't know which one it'd be."

Jaymi blinks. "Niall, don't you know where you -- plugged yourself in?"

Niall points underneath a cabinet piled high with old issues of magazines. "It's under there. I nearly broke my leg getting under there m'self, so good luck."

Jaymi's eyes roll dramatically and he looks at JJ. "You're shorter. You go into the cavern of the Christmas abyss and I'll spin this one around like a loo roll until the lights fall off."

"Will that work?" JJ is doubtful, but he _is_ quite small, so he walks on his knees over to the space beneath the cabinet and then ducks down to fit.

Niall gives Jaymi a despondent look. "Help me; I think they're burning through my shirt."

"No, they're not," Jaymi promises him. "Do you know where either of the ends are?"

"If I knew that, I'd find 'em myself." Niall frowns at Jaymi as though he's being deliberately obtuse. "I think one of them's underneath me, maybe."

Jaymi grunts. "Let's roll you over then."

Niall looks at Jaymi suspiciously, but shuffles over onto his stomach in a slow, careful squirm. "Ouch," he mumbles sadly. "I'm gonna have little fairy light burns all over me."

"Well, you'll know for next time," Jaymi says, and finds the end of one green wire. "Right, these won't explode if I pull this, will they?"

"I don't think so, but I also didn't think I'd spend my morning as a Christmas tree," Niall grumbles.

There's a cough and JJ emerges from under the cabinet, plug-end of the wire in hand and dust all in his hair. He looks like a handsome Albert Einstein.

"I think you should stay just like that all day," Jaymi says seriously. "Exactly like that. It'll bring in loads of customers who'll be wanting you to do their maths homework."

JJ's brow furrows. "We don't do that here. I think there's a place on High Street that does homework; that girl Perrie that Zayn's fond of works there."

"A nice little vacation," Jaymi repeats to JJ's confusion. "Alright, I think this won't electrocute you but I'm not promising anything," he tells Niall before he pulls the green wire.

"Ow," Niall moans, but it seems perfunctory more than pained. Eventually, with JJ and Jaymi walking in circles around Niall like they're threading a maypole, they manage to free both of his arms.

"Much better," he says gratefully, though his legs are still decorated like the most festive trousers in the world. "Top half's all I really need, isn't it?"

"You have a very different life than I do," Jaymi snorts. "Anyway! Can someone employed here please help me pawn my belongings so I can buy people Christmas gifts?"

"Well, I work here, and I've got use of all my limbs last time I checked," JJ volunteers. "Can you get out the rest of the way on your own, Nialler?"

"I think so," Niall confirms. "And then I can fix them properly. I had a lot time to think while I was imprisoned."

"Yeah, all of twenty minutes," Jaymi laughs. "We can leave you to it, then. Come on, JJ, I think my vision's started going funny from all the lights."

JJ pats Niall fondly on the head before he's left to his own devices in the corner again.

"Interesting day?" Jaymi asks.

"Liam came in this morning and bought a load of dog supplies on IOU," JJ says, his brown furrowed. "No idea what that's about. Have we got a dog now?"

"Have we?" Jaymi says mildly. "Don't think so. Can't, in the building, can we?"

"That's what I thought," JJ says. "But I didn't have a note about it so I thought maybe I was wrong." He pulls a pad from his pocket and writes, _Liam: do we have a dog?_

"Good show, we'll need to know that," Jaymi approves. "If we did have a dog, I think Zayn would know, and he hasn't mentioned anything."

JJ nods like this is something of a relief, then shakes dust out of his quiff and steps behind the counter. He perches on the cracked black stool and leans one elbow on the countertop like he's playing a part. "What are you trading in today?"

"Oh." Jaymi startles like he's just remembered what he's there for and he halfheartedly swings the bag at his side that JJ's only just noticed. "Yeah, I was just wondering -- Last time I was in here, I saw you had a load of old like, video games, that sort of thing? Do you still?"

JJ nods. "I can't promise that nothing's walked off. I think I need a locked cabinet for the Wii and Kinect stuff."

"Oh, it wouldn't be in there. I don't think anyone would've bought this one," Jaymi says. JJ wonders if he's being purposefully vague, but he can't imagine why that'd be. "It's really old, ancient."

JJ scratches the back of his head. "Should be in the stacks, then." He raises his voice. "Niall! You free?"

"Victory!" Niall cries, brushing himself off as he emerges from the back room. "I've defeated the fairy lights, yeah. Be proud of me, please."

"Very proud," JJ calls back, and Jaymi doesn't even think he's being sarcastic at all. "Can you drag up that box of video games for Jaymi?"

"Yep," Niall confirms. He makes a left down an aisle filled with teetering boxes spilling over with slinkys and jacks-in-the-box, picking a box seemingly at random. He hefts it up and returns to the counter to plop it down in front of Jaymi. "There y'go. All in there. What're you looking for?"

"Erm, it's this Sega Genesis game I was going to get Zayn," Jaymi mumbles. He goes a little pink behind the ears, right where he has a sharp tribal tattoo on one side.

Niall's grin becomes more of a smirk, and he gives JJ a delighted glance. "Really? He loves that old thing. I think those are towards the bottom; nobody ever buys them."

"I was hoping on that," Jaymi says, and paws through the avalanche of Atari 2600 Pac-Man and GameBoy Advance RoboCOP 2003.

He emerges with a black cartridge and goes even pinker when Niall leans over, squints at it, and bursts into laughter.

"What?" he asks defensively, waving the tape with Michael Jackson's face displayed prominently on the front. "He'll love it. Won't he?"

JJ grabs Jaymi's wrist to hold the game still so he can read the title on the cartridge. 

"Michael Jackson: Moonwalker for Sega Genesis?"

Even JJ sounds mocking, and that's how Jaymi knows that maybe this is all going a bit far. But really, Zayn _will_ love it and he -- he -- he -- he wants to see Zayn smile, because he doesn't even celebrate Christmas but he'll be alone and stuck with the lads anyway, and he's still been a bit tense since Liam began spending all that time with Ella, and.

Zayn has a really nice smile. Jaymi likes putting it on his face.

"Yes," he says shortly. "Are you going to let me trade for it, or do you have to write it down first?"

"I have to look up the value of what you're trading, unless you have cash," JJ says. He frowns just a little. "I do run a real business, even if I don't make as much money. And even that drek is worth something. I should check that too, actually, since it might be more expensive now he's died."

"I think I've got it covered." Jaymi sounds a little sad as he lifts his bag and sets it on the counter, drawing a book out of it that he handles carefully, almost reverently. "This should do it, I think."

JJ shrugs. "Books are a mixed bag. Some aren't worth nothing and some are rather valuable. Doesn't look old."

"Well, it's not _old_ ," Jaymi sounds a bit tetchy. "Not unless I'm old. I got it when I was born, but it's a first-edition."

"Ooh, first editions are a bit more, when you were born, you said?" JJ frowns, doing the math in his head. "That's... Twenty years or so? Might be enough."

"Twenty-two, Jayj," Jaymi sighs. For all of his note-taking, JJ is absolutely the worst at remembering things like birthdays and tax days and paydays and Christmas.

"I said or so," JJ defends. "What book is it? You're sure it's worth the same as the game? I should look it up."

"Well, they have to be nearly the same age," Jaymi says. "It's, look -- " he shoves the tattered hardcover across the countertop. " _The Very Quiet Cricket_ , it's an Eric Carle first edition and he's also dead and rather famous."

"Oh, he did the caterpillar one, didn't he?" Niall exclaims, hopping up onto the counter beside the box as JJ inspects the book. "I loved the caterpillar one, that's a classic."

"That one's alright," Jaymi says. He coughs. "This is the best one."

JJ is flipping through the book now, page by page, turning them carefully. "Why would you want to trade it, then? First edition of the best one?"

Jaymi goes a little redder. "Well, it's the only thing I have that's likely to be worth enough money, isn't it? And I have the best part tattooed on me anyhow, so I can't -- I can't miss it."

"You like this book enough to tattoo a line from it on you, and you're giving it away?" Niall asks. His voice has gone quiet like it almost never is.

Jaymi's face goes the rest of the way pink and he looks away before giving a nasal little laugh and saying, "It's a kids' book. There's like, four lines and I have two on me, so I've got most of it for keeps. And like, Zayn's family all moved away and he can't afford an airline ticket and it's just, you know, I want him to laugh or something."

Nobody talks for a long moment and Jaymi fidgets, his fingers tangling together and his thumbs rubbing over his palms. 

"Right, I think this is more than enough," JJ says, closing the book and nodding. "Once I look up the price later, I can give you store credit for what overlaps?"

"Yeah, if you're sure," Jaymi can't quite meet JJ's eyes. He looks a bit stuck at where Niall's dusty fingers are still flipping idly through the book's pages.

"Of course. I'll tell you at home later. It's going to be a present, yeah? So I won't mention it in front of Zayn or anything." JJ gives Jaymi an encouraging smile.

Jaymi looks like his heart might be dying a little, but he smiles at JJ anyway and says, "Thanks for that. D'you want to write a reminder not to say it in front of him?"

It's not mean. JJ does really tend to forget nuances like that.

But he shakes his head this time. "No, I'll definitely remember."

He doesn't think he could forget something like this, not when Jaymi still looks so devastated. He doesn't look unsure, though, not one bit.

Niall doesn't seem to pick up on anything unusual, though, and shrugs. "I don't know why anyone would want to play this game. It's not even like DDR. And I still think the caterpillar book is better, no offense."

"Well, you'd like that one; it's about eating everything," Jaymi says.

Niall doesn't look offended at all. "I relate to it on a very deep level," he agrees. "I've always felt a connection with caterpillars."

Jaymi tweaks Niall's cheek even though his eyes still look sad. "Someday you'll transform into a butterfly yet, little Niall."

That earns him a wide-mouthed grin from Niall, who hops down off the counter to give Jaymi a sideways cuddle. Maybe he's more perceptive than JJ thought.

Jaymi rubs Niall's side. "You ought to start working on your cocoon. Oh no, was that what the fairy lights were? Have we set your puberty back a year?"

"Hope not, they fucking hurt," says Niall cheerfully. "I hope it doesn't hurt to become a butterfly. Poor caterpillars."

Jaymi just shakes his head and does, genuinely, laugh. 

"What's the tattoo say?" JJ asks suddenly. He's put rubber gloves on to turn the pages as he inspects the book for irreparable damage, and it makes Jaymi happy and sad at once.

"' _But nothing happened. Not a sound._ ' It's obviously not one of the ones I've got out all the time," Jaymi adds. "D'you want to see it?"

" _Do_ we want to see it?" Niall and JJ ask back right away.

Jaymi rolls his eyes. "It's not somewhere you've never seen. You've probably just never looked."

"Oh, alright, then, whip it out." Niall peers at Jaymi suspiciously, like he's still expecting Jaymi to take off his trousers in the middle of the shop or something.

Jaymi dislodges Niall's arm and pulls up the side of his shirt so that they can read the little-kid printing across his ribs. _But nothing happened. Not a sound._

"It, erm, it took me a while to want to learn to talk?" Jaymi explains haltingly. "So we started me on singing lessons and piano, and -- well, that's it, in the short version."

"Wow, that's lovely, though." JJ gives him an approving nod. "I've seen that before, just, you're right, I never thought about it. You've got a million, haven't you? You and Zayn both. Zayn could have the whole bloody book tattooed on him and I couldn't tell."

Jaymi stutters a manic little laugh. "Wouldn't that be just the thing? If Zayn had the same book tattooed on him. Har, har."

Niall latches back on to Jaymi and sets his chin on his shoulder. "I don't think Zayn's got any books tattooed on him," he says thoughtfully. "Mostly like, music stuff and comic shit. And whatever other ones he's got."

Jaymi nods. "Yeah, I think you're right."

"But he and Harry," Niall continues, "They get tattoos so much that who even knows anymore? Harry could have like all of Harry Potter on him."

"That'd be -- what's that word? Iconic?" JJ asks. "Like that Beyonce song?"

"There are a lot of iconic Beyonce songs, but I think you mean _Ironic_ , which was Alanis Morrisette," Jaymi sighs.

"Same thing," JJ dismisses. "Well, almost the same thing. Anyway, I don't think either of them's got books tattooed on them. We see enough of Harry naked that I think we'd probably know."

"And if we didn't see it, George would talk about it," Niall grumps. "They really like sharing."

JJ wrinkles his nose, but they all know that George's lack of filter is -- more endearing than it'd be on anybody else. JJ's pretty sure it's the eyes or the cheekbones or the way he uses his whole face to smile.

And if he's talking about Harry, even when it's an overshare, George is _always_ smiling.

"Well, even if he did have the book tattooed on him, I won't say anything about it," JJ says firmly. "I hope he likes the... game, thing. You're sure he will?"

"It's an old arcade video game about Michael Jackson like, fighting zombies or something by dancing," Jaymi says flatly. "If that doesn't spell Zayn, what does?"

"That's a good point," Niall agrees. "He'd think that was amazing. He'd probably play it every day. And he'll make us play it with him."

Jaymi smiles, though. "I hope so. That's the point of a gift, isn't it?"

"It is." JJ gives him a smile back. "You should probably go before you're missed, shouldn't you?" He checks the time.

Jaymi smirks. "I sent Zayn to the post office. He'll be gone for another hour yet; I thought it'd take longer to find the game."

"We're organized," JJ protests. "Did you see? Found it straight off."

"Yes, but it did take ages to find _Niall_."

"I knew where he _was_ , I just didn't know he'd been attacked by fairy lights," grumbles JJ. "Everything's where it's supposed to be. Except the fairy lights, I guess, because they weren't supposed to be decorating Niall."

Niall's face suddenly creases and he looks off into the distance. "Did I leave those plugged in?"

He scampers off.

JJ sighs and gives Jaymi a longsuffering look. "This is what I have to deal with every day."

Jaymi smiles and pats JJ's cheek. He still looks sad behind the eyes, JJ thinks, and he pretends not to notice how Jaymi's glance lands back on the cover of his old book.

All the same --

"You got this when you were born?" he asks, clarifying. "You really want to trade it? I can write you an IOU invoice if you want to pay cash."

"I can't afford it," Jaymi mumbles. "Zayn's trying to save up for a ticket to see his family for his birthday, I -- was going to surprise him by pitching in, as a birthday gift."

"I think he'll be really pleased," says JJ, reaching over to rub Jaymi's shoulder. "With both of those things. I really do. I can't wait to see his face."

Jaymi goes a little pink and nods and sort of flutters his embarrassed way back around the piles of old magazines and puzzle boxes to the front door. There's a jingle of the Christmas bells they've tied onto the doorknob as it shuts again.

JJ sighs and picks up the box of video games to return it to the right shelf before he knocks it over or something. Everything has to go in its proper place or he won't know where anything is.

And they _do have_ proper places, he thinks a bit grumpishly. Much as they all have _real prices_.

And the thing is.

The thing is.

The thing is that Jaymi's book isn't worth anything.

Not to anyone except Jaymi.

JJ has to sigh again as he picks up the book that nobody will ever buy, looking over the quirky picture of a cricket on the front. This book meant so much to Jaymi and he gave it up to make Zayn happy. JJ wishes, in a weird way, that he had someone he was willing to do that for.

There's a very Irish yelp of _shitwanker!_ from the back of the shop and JJ shakes his head. No, not even Niall.

But it might be the closest he'll ever get, and he thinks that's almost as good.

JJ sighs and writes himself a little note to give Niall a hug and maybe buy him a pastry later, and then he turns back to Jaymi's book. The cover is tattered and the spine is broken. There are grubby fingerprints on the pages that long predate Niall's dusty hands. It's --

There are a lot of varying states of wear that turn up in a pawn shop. There are items that someone's been gifted and never opened, so they're still in the packaging, brand new. Those have never been wanted. And there are the things someone tried out or thought would be handy and weren't for very long; those are just used. And then there are the things like Jaymi's book or old hairless teddy bears with their stuffing falling out and an eye replaced by a button. Those have no price tags because JJ can't sell them. They're priceless. Those are the items that have been _loved_.

He crouches down to set the book carefully on a shelf underneath the counter, beside a yo-yo with a frayed string and in front of an old record that's been played so many times there are scratches in it deeper than the grooves themselves.

There's a shelf across the shop that he normally keeps the books on, but he won't be selling this book, and he knows that.

Niall doesn't reappear, so JJ just gets out one of his clipboards and starts to reinventory the video games and double-check the current going prices on the older cartridges.

After the second crash from the back room he gives up and heads back there, jumping out of the way when Niall goes careening past on -- a skateboard?

"Don't do that in here!" he exclaims as Niall smacks into the wall. "You're going to break something, and probably bones, too."

"But I found it in a box of ladies' hats!" Niall says, and shakes himself out like a puppy. "I have to bring them over to Louis and Josh, I suppose."

"It's definitely not a lady's hat," JJ muses. "Doesn't even look like one. What was it doing there?"

Niall shrugs, easy-shouldered as always. "What's anything doing anywhere? Why did Michael Jackson even make a video game? There are a lot of questions today."

"Aren't there always?" JJ asks, curious. There are a lot of questions every day, for him, and he takes out his pad of paper to scribble down -- 'Why did Michael Jackson make a video game?'

Also -- 'What does a skateboard have to do with ladies' hats?'

Last week, Harry and George had nicked his notepad and written _why is a raven like a writing desk?_. He still hadn't figured it out, though, so he didn't want to admit that they'd pulled one over on him.

"Hey, Niall?" JJ asks, as he tucks the pad back into his pocket. "You know how Zayn wants to go home and see his family for his birthday?"

Niall rolls over on the floor and pushes himself up. "Jaymi just said so, so yeah. Zayn's mentioned it at home, I think."

"Yeah, but it just made me think, you know, how you're here and all your family's Irish and stuff." JJ shrugs. "But you're staying here for Christmas."

Niall grins up at him, all brace-faced. "Are you getting sentimental on me, James?" Niall shrugs again. "I don't need to go home. I can get shitfaced on whisky just as well here and if I'm honest, Harry is better at cooking than me gran."

"He's better at cooking than anyone's gran. I think he might actually be a gran." JJ frowns. "But don't you miss your family?"

Niall cocks his head. "I guess. Not like Zayn does, or Louis. Or maybe George; I can never tell how he feels about his hundred siblings besides Harriet and I think it's weird her name's so like Harry's." Niall stands up and dusts off his hands on his thighs. "Me mum and dad don't live together, so the holidays are a mess anyway figuring out whose house to go to when and that. And I hated my brother 'til I was seventeen."

"Why, what happened before you were seventeen?" JJ's frown deepens. "Or, what happened when you were seventeen that made it change, I guess."

"Nothing, I just grew up," Niall says. "Or he stopped being a pompous, older-than-me wanker. Not sure which." He and JJ both crack a laugh. "And then I moved here."

"I'm glad you did move here," JJ admits. "I just, I don't know. I guess I never thought about it before, all your family being in Ireland. I should've asked before now."

"It's alright, my man James. I don't miss them as much as you miss your horses, I'd bet anyhow." Niall pats JJ's cheek. "Are you thinking of going home for a visit, then, now Zayn's given you the idea?"

"Not really," says JJ slowly. "I think I'd quite like a quiet Christmas in, with all of you. I don't think any of us are going home this year, are we?" He frowns.

"Not if Zayn doesn't have the money, no," Niall says. He ticks off on his fingers, mouthing names, to double-check. "No. D'you realize there are ten of us now? We won't have any leftover turkey."

"I'm sure we can work something out," JJ quickly assures as Niall's mouth threatens a pout. "It'll be alright. Business always picks up right before the holidays; we can all pool on a big meal."

"But it has to be big enough for leftovers," Niall says quickly. "Because Harry makes those sandwiches, don't you remember? And he puts the cranberry sauce right on the bread like it's jam, and there's the cheese with the herbs in it, and the turkey and the stuffing, so it's like a bread sandwich on bread with bread in the middle..." He sighs, starry-eyed.

"Which is appetizing to nobody but you, so I think we'll manage it," JJ says dryly.

"No, everybody loves them," Niall says petulantly. "They're the best part of Christmas."

"I thought, like, cheer and joy and good tidings and everything were the best part of Christmas?" JJ asks. "Though, George's peppermint hot chocolate comes a close second."

" _Oh god_ ," Niall moans. He collapses face-down against the countertop. "I'm so hungry, and now I want hot chocolate."

"You can go out for some in a little while," JJ comforts. "After we finish with the video games. If you help it'll take less time."

Niall moans again, this time in anguish, but gamely hops up onto the countertop and pulls out an armful of cartridges and disks.

"Good lad," says JJ with a smile. He digs out his own handful and begins sorting them happily.

 ** _004._**  
Zayn fucking hates December.

It's not even the whole Christmas thing, because he likes getting gifts and likes giving gifts and none of his friends are particularly Jesus-y or anything, so he doesn't feel like, put out. His mum always had a little potted tree anyway because she'd grown up with them and he'd sung carols with the school choir and whatnot, so that was fine.

It's just so fucking dark out all the time and it's cold and it's wet and everyone's shoes squeak, and it gets on his last nerve.

His hair never goes the way he wants and he hates being cold, and he hates being _damp_ , and he hates December. He hates it.

He hates having to walk through slush and snow to get places, so he makes sure to grumble as much as possible and glare at the ground as he makes his way to JJ and Niall's shop.

He's already had to take a fucking hour-long trip onto the mainland, wait in line two goddamn hours at the post office, and take an hour-long trip back. Jaymi can wait a bit longer, that ungrateful twat.

Zayn mentally apologizes, but not very much. He hates doing the trip to the post office and Jaymi knows it.

Jamming his beanie further onto his head to cover his awful December hair, Zayn stomps past the thrift. When he glances in the window, past the eye-numbingly garish display of ugly festive jumpers, it -- it almost looks like Josh and Louis are working together on the same rack of corduroy trousers. It almost looks like Josh has made Louis _laugh_.

That's not possible even in the time of year when miracles are _supposed_ to happen. Zayn scoffs, turning his gaze back to the ground covered in slush and gross, grey snow.

He bumps into Niall -- literally -- near the door of the pawn shop as Niall comes out, looking distracted and hellbent on the bakery, while Zayn is trying to shoulder inside without having to take his cold hands out of his pockets.

"Oh, hey," says Niall. "Freezing out here. Did you need one of us?"

"Just heading back from the city," Zayn says. "Going to Harry's?"

Zayn rarely mentions George in conjunction to the bakery, even though he does love George. They all do. And he works as much as Harry and just as hard as Harry, it’s just that Zayn still thinks of the bakery as _being Harry's place_.

"Yeah, I'm starving." Niall rubs his stomach. "I could bring you somethin' if you think you'll still be here when I'm back?"

Zayn has to smile at that and gives Niall half a nod. "Whatever looks good. I know they won't give me what I actually ask for, so I just won't anymore."

"Glad you've learned." Niall claps a hand on Zayn's shoulder and gives him a proper hug before he clomps off through the icy muck.

Zayn shakes his head. He can see lights twinkling all around the bakery windows and the massive wreaths and red bows all the way from here. The whole building seems to be frosted in tinsel.

Harry (and George, he reminds himself) always goes a bit crazy for the holidays, all sparkle and glamour, and it's not that Zayn's not fond of a little fun and celebration, he just never gets quite as into it as they do. But they're probably elves, anyway, so he guesses that's reasonable.

It probably feels like the mothership coming to take them home if they coat the entire bakery in glitter and mistletoe.

The inside of the pawn shop is pleasantly warm and Zayn makes sure to rub his feet on the mat as well as he can but they still squeak on the lino and Zayn frowns.

"Hi, be with you in a second!" JJ calls from somewhere. Zayn tries to see around the maze of junk and stuff, but he can't find him. He could never work here. He'd get claustrophobic, and he _isn't_ even claustrophobic.

"It's cool!" he calls back. "Don't get lost or anything!"

"Is that Zayn?" JJ calls. "Hold on, I'll be there in a moment. Don't go behind the counter."

That's odd. It sort of makes Zayn want to go behind the counter just because JJ's told him not to, but that'd be mean, and Zayn's not inherently a mean person. Maybe there's like, an ocean behind the counter and JJ's just being kind and warning him first. You never know, in December.

And of anywhere Zayn knows, if someone's tried to trade in something odd or dangerous, it'd end up in JJ's shop behind the counter. A few times he's even had to call in the police because there are weird powders or vials in hidden compartments of jewelry boxes, and once, a crate of old shoes had a switchblade in it with a broken spring.

So Zayn stays where he is, dawdling by the door until JJ can finish whatever he's doing and come out from the back.

Zayn's eyes wander even though his feet don't, and there are stacks of -- well, everything -- lining the walls. He knows that the other boys have done their Christmas shopping here, most likely, and he probably will, too, but he's also only really buying anything for Jaymi so he can save up. He's warned most of them that they're just getting mixes.

He is getting a box of biscuits from Harry at the bakery to give his friend Perrie, though, who works up around the corner at the tutoring center with her friend Jade. She's pretty and has lilac hair and -- 

Well. Anyway, he likes her enough to get her something, but it's only biscuits. They're as much from Harry. Jaymi, Zayn still has no idea, because nothing seems quite enough.

Jaymi's, well, he's a lot of things, for Zayn. If it weren't for Jaymi and the shop he has no idea where he'd be right now. And Jaymi deserves a lot more than Zayn can give him, more than money could buy, Zayn thinks, but that's beside the point anyway since Zayn doesn't have any money to spare.

There is unlikely to be anything in JJ's wreck of a shop that is good enough for him, Zayn thinks. It's uncharitable. Jaymi's never _asked_ for more than they have. He never asks for anything, not even for Zayn to wake up earlier and be more helpful.

Really, Jaymi's the best person Zayn knows. Zayn could get him nothing as a present, an empty box with no wrapping and Jaymi wouldn't care, because -- and Zayn warms a little just thinking about it -- for Jaymi, anything Zayn got him would be just the perfect present, somehow.

But he doesn't feel like that's, like, legitimate. He wants to get him the _actual_ best thing, because. Well, he has his reasons and needing Jaymi to be happy and like, maybe a little extra-happy with Zayn, is a big part of it.

He lets his eyes travel over the shelves without much interest. Old board games, plastic bags filled with jigsaw puzzle pieces, a few little statues of various birds. Nothing for Jaymi.

If there were something right for him, it'd probably be in their own shop, which doesn't help at all. And he'd offer to design another tattoo for him but that just sounds pompous and Jaymi might not want more tattoos.

It has to be something that Jaymi'd never think of to get himself, because generally, aside from things too expensive to buy (which Zayn couldn't afford to get him anyway) Jaymi's good at getting things that he wants for himself. It can't be something he'd think of.

Zayn sighs and kicks just the toe of his boot against the edge of a stack of boxes of jigsaw puzzles. It shakes dangerously and teeters, but doesn't fall.

That's probably not a good idea. JJ likes his shop to be as neat as it possibly can be, and maybe it's a bit crowded, but it's an orderly crowded as opposed to some of the corners of Trax, with its unsorted records piled high waiting to be put into their right place in the alphabet.

He's still straightening the stack when JJ reappears from nowhere.

"Hello!" he says, startling Zayn into nearly knocking over the puzzles again. "What can I do for you, mate? If you're looking for Niall, he's just left to get food."

"I know, I saw him," Zayn says. "I'm just dawdling, really." He drums his fingertips on the counter and watches JJ write himself a line of chickenscratch notes. "Hey, what are you getting Niall for Christmas?"

"Dunno, probably something edible." JJ peers down at his notes, frowns, and adds something. "Chocolate, maybe, he's been craving sweet more lately."

"Right." That's no help. "Do you know what Harry and George are getting for each other?"

That may be more in line with the -- _tone_ of what he wants to give Jaymi. Maybe.

"If I had to guess, I'd say rainbows. Maybe a nice cloud." JJ caps his pen with a satisfied expression. "Why d'you ask?"

"George does have a weird obsession with owning a cloud, doesn't he?" Zayn avoids answering. "I'm just wondering whether mixes make me look too cheap. You know."

"Of course not!" JJ exclaims, frowning. "We're all a bit tight on money, aren't we? And everyone knows you're saving up. It's not like anybody's getting, I dunno, a speedboat."

Zayn's mouth flattens. "Now you've done it. Harry's going to turn up having bought George a speedboat. Or Louis. He does like spoiling Louis, and he dresses like a nautical nightmare anyhow."

"Maybe he'll get a tattoo of a boat instead," JJ says, and he looks legitimately worried now. "I don't think they can afford an actual one."

"Don't give him any ideas," Zayn says drily. "That's exactly what Harry would do. He's leading George astray, he is."

"I'm a bit surprised he's not got a tattoo of George on him somewhere, if I'm honest," JJ admits. "To show his eternal devotion, or whatever."

"He does, though," Zayn says. "You must be able to avert your eyes quicker than I can when he's strutting about naked."

JJ looks like he's not sure whether Zayn is joking or not. "Well, I hope it's at least tastefully done," he concludes.

Zayn shakes his head. "It's not." He pauses. "I guess I could get a tattoo as a gift." He rubs his hands over his eyes. "I hate Christmas."

"There, there," JJ soothes, patting his back. "We love your mixes. They're always great, don't worry about it."

If only the real world were as simple as JJ's world. Instead there are landmines and pitfalls and things like -- like -- like finally giving up on Liam Payne and liking Jaymi as much as he deserves, instead, and not having any money, ever, and having two roommates who like each other enough to have classless tattoos of each others' faces on indelicate parts of them that Zayn has seen too, too many times.

It's nothing like Zayn ever expected his life to be and it's great, mostly, except for when it's cripplingly, awfully lonely. He's so sick of being lonely when he's surrounded by people.

That's why he wants to bring Jaymi with him when he goes home for a visit in January.

He just doesn't know how to ask.

And there's a part of him (a part he knows is ridiculous, a part he knows is _wrong_ ) that worries about whether Jaymi would say no. It's just -- Jaymi's like, cool, and confident, and there aren't many logical reasons Zayn can think of why he'd want, like. Zayn. Zayn's not cool at all. He pretends alright, with his leather jackets and his tattoos and his quiff, but he's goofy and he's a dork, and he likes comic books and sometimes when nobody's looking he puts the Backstreet Boys on repeat. He's not cool. And he's definitely not confident. And somehow, Jaymi likes him anyway.

Zayn looks up at JJ. "What kind of gift would you get someone to tell them that they're basically perfect?"

JJ blinks at him for a moment. "I guess, something that makes me think of them? Something they'd get and it'd make them think, yeah, this is why I like you so much, this right here is exactly why." He goes a bit pink. "Or maybe a tattoo of a boat."

Zayn has to laugh at that, because maybe that's the only solution. He'll get a massive fuck-off boat on his arm and go, _Jaymi, this boat is for you, it's the SS Zaymi!_ and somehow, he'll have acquired the mindless cuteness of a Harry or a George and it won't be the stupidest thing anyone's done, ever.

He's pretty sure it would be, because he's not endearing or charming like those two, and he'd show Jaymi the boat and say, _I got this for you_ and Jaymi wouldn't understand at all. Rightfully so.

He does like tattoos, though. Maybe he should do something with one of the ones Jaymi's already got.

That's an idea. He frowns, thinking that over. What tattoos does Jaymi have? Maybe he can paint one or something. He's an alright artist, he thinks.

It's an excuse to try and see Jaymi's tattooed skin, at least. Maybe that makes it a selfish present.

(Happy Christmas to Zayn, though, and all that.)

The best presents are the ones that benefit everyone, like -- like charity work, and getting to see the guy you fancy shirtless. That's almost the same thing. Zayn rubs his face. It's not the same thing at all, even a little bit.

"You alright?" JJ asks. "Did you need something, or are you waiting for Niall?"

"Nah, I think I'll look around a bit, if it's all the same? Just until my break's over." Zayn looks around again. Maybe he should just make a soppy romantic mix, or something.

JJ nods and gives Zayn a long, careful, studying look. "There's some new films in the back, if you're interested. Maybe something to strike your fancy."

"Maybe," Zayn agrees. There probably won't be anything, but it can't hurt to check. Maybe there'll be a film on what to get your best friend-slash-love interest for a gift.

He's pretty sure they make at least ten films a year with that premise.

And if he can't find one, he'll just ask Harry for titles. Or maybe Josh, since he's walked in on Josh crying over Twilight _twice_.

He steps past JJ to trudge into the back room, popping back out when JJ gives him directions and then making the right turn toward a slightly dusty case of films, DVDs and even a few old VHS tapes.

It's mostly children's films, and, okay, he and Liam have a standing order on any Hulk or Spider-Man animated features that come through and, yes, maybe once or twice he's come in to buy an anime. But Jaymi is different, he's all... manly and grown-up.

Jaymi won't want cartoons or anything, or a film about a dog who plays sports. Nobody would want a film about a dog who plays sports, he doesn't think.

Niall might. It seems like a Niall thing. 

Zayn sighs and flips through the VHS tapes blithely, barely taking in titles, before standing to leave. He'll just to back to the store and stare piningly at Jaymi until an idea hits him. Or until Jaymi does.

Not that Jaymi would ever hit him. Jaymi wouldn't hit anyone, apart from sometimes JJ when he's being particularly oblivious.

And that's more of a loving thump, really.

He wasn't really expecting to find anything anyway but now he's right back where he started, with no ideas and no gift. Sighing, he makes his way back out to the front of the shop. 

"Thanks for letting me look around," he says to JJ, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I should get back."

JJ gives him a nod. "If you think of something else, we're always open. Except when we're not."

"Like most things." Zayn nods back, trying not to laugh. "Yeah, I'll be around again if I have any ideas."

JJ smiles back, but Zayn catches him jotting down a note on his pad after he thinks Zayn's turned around.

Niall's on his way in the door with three coffee cups balanced in his hands as Zayn's going out.

"Oi, good timing," Niall says cheerfully. "The one on the left is for you."

"Thanks, man." That puts a smile on Zayn's face, and he takes the cup when Niall hands it to him. "I need this."

"That's what George said." Niall sounds a little puzzled, but mostly fond. "Didn't even know he'd seen you today."

"He hasn't." Zayn laughs under his breath and lifts the lid of his cup so he can sniff.

"Oh. Must be a George thing, then." Niall bobs his head. 

"This is going to be delicious and it's going to annoy me," Zayn sighs, taking a sip and frowning. "I hate when he knows what I want."

Niall shakes his head and takes a sip of his own drink. "Harry's a lucky man."

Zayn thinks Harry's lucky for a lot of reasons, not just George’s paranormal prescience -- but having George, someone who understands him and makes him laugh and is willing to get questionable tattoos with him... He thinks that's probably one of the luckiest things in the world.

It sort of makes Zayn grumpy again. Although that might be the sudden spike of icy wind that sprays crystals of powdery snow from a drift along the alley into his face.

Jaymi's sat on the floor next to the counter when Zayn gets back into the shop. He looks up and is obviously trying not to laugh at Zayn's cranky expression.

"I hate winter," Zayn announces. "Is it March yet?"

"Nope, sorry," Jaymi says. "Just December. How was the post office?"

"Awful, like it always is. I hate winter," Zayn repeats, taking another drink. It's still warm, but the walk through the wind and cold has cooled it somewhat, and it's actually drinkable without burning his tongue now.

Jaymi smiles up at Zayn, and really -- in retrospect, Zayn can see that he should have just set the coffee _down on the counter_ before trying to take his coat off, but of course he doesn't, so instead it falls and splatters all over Jaymi's jumper.

"Oh, fuck!" he says loudly, which isn't -- helpful. Really, Zayn wonders how he hasn't just combusted already. "Shit, I'm so sorry."

Jaymi shakes out his arms. "It's alright; didn't burn me. Invoices are ruined, but I can rewrite them."

"No, I'll do them, it's my fault they're ruined anyway." Zayn hates doing invoices but he hates most everything that's not sleeping, and it _was_ his fault.

Jaymi smiles up at Zayn. "Thanks. Give me a hand up?"

Zayn offers Jaymi his hand and gives him a good yank to help him up, bracing his feet so he doesn't go toppling over and make things worse.

"Thanks." Jaymi grins. He looks down at his sweater and frowns. "Well, this needs a washing."

"I can do that too," Zayn offers. He's terrible at washing clothes, too, always turns all the whites pink like he's in a sitcom. He doesn't know how he's lived this long.

"Yeah, I think I'll ask Josh, if it's all the same to you," Jaymi says wryly, a little mischief in his eyes. He's seen enough of Zayn's accidental tie-dye.

"I can get you another shirt from the flat?" tries Zayn. He wouldn't want to be all wet and covered in coffee all day.

Jaymi shrugs one shoulder and starts peeling off his jumper. "I think I have one in the back. If I don't, yeah, that'd be great. Thanks."

His skin is littered with tattoos when his shirt comes up with the jumper.

It's not exactly how Zayn anticipated his day going but he's certainly not complaining. He takes advantage of the opportunity to ogle, swallowing hard as his eyes trace the words on Jaymi's ribs and the pictures that trace his chest.

There are several of his own designs up under Jaymi's arms and on the backs of his shoulder blades. Zayn is fairly proud of that, so much that it almost glows under his skin.

"What's that one?" he asks so that it's not as obvious he's enjoying the view rather intensely. He picks a tattoo at random, what looks like the lettering of a little kid forming words on Jaymi's skin. "I've not noticed it before."

Jaymi looks -- inexplicably sad, at that, and Zayn immediately wishes he'd asked about something else. He already knows, though, about most of the tattoos Jaymi has. Maybe that one was supposed to stay a mystery.

"Here, it's a line from a book I, uh, a book I had as a kid." Jaymi tilts his body so Zayn can read the writing better. "A Very Quiet Cricket, it's by Eric Carle."

"But nothing happened, not a sound," Zayn reads. "Why that?"

"It's my favorite line in the book." Jaymi's gone a little red in the face. "When I was a kid, I didn't really want to learn how to talk, so I got singing lessons at first, and piano."

Zayn smiles up at Jaymi. "And?"

Jaymi shakes his head. "And when I got to my first recital, nothing happened. Not a sound. Until I scrapped the Mozart and banged out Little Richard instead."

"I could see that happening now," Zayn laughs. It's a very Jaymi thing to do. "That's really cool, though. That you got it tattooed, I mean. It means a lot to you."

Jaymi coughs. "Yeah, it's -- like it was a funny story and stuff. My gran was at that recital and afterwards she took me out for ice cream, even though my piano teacher was so angry." He smiles a little. "She was a neat lady, my gran."

"She sounds it. I'd've liked to meet your gran." Zayn grabs his now empty cup and neatly drops it in the bin. "That's a good story to have. And a good one to hear. Thanks for telling me about it."

Jaymi nods and pulls his damp shirt back down. "That's your reward for doing the post. I'm going to check the back for a new jumper."

Zayn shoots him a thumbs up and immediately regrets it. Thumbs up are about the least cool thing in the world. You'd think after he's known Jaymi so long that the cool would rub off. It obviously hasn't.

Clearly, he needs to spend less time with Harry and George. They are obviously negating Jaymi's cool influence with all their cheeriness and snugglability.

Zayn's not really snugglable, and he's not really cheerful, so it just manifests as awkwardness. Damn Harry and George. He needs to start hanging out with, well, nobody but Jaymi.

Who is coming back out of the office, shaking his head and looking sort of cold. "No luck." Jaymi pauses. "Are you actually willing to go to the flat and get me a new one?"

"Yeah, of course, if you don't mind it'll take that much longer to get the invoices done." Zayn scratches the back of his neck. "You'll catch your death hanging around without a shirt on in _winter_."

Jaymi smirks. "Can't have that. The shop wouldn't open 'til two p.m. if it were up to you."

"Sleep is important. I'm a growing boy." Zayn grins at him.

"Yeah, I'll bet," Jaymi says, and Zayn is probably overthinking that it sounds a little flirtatious.

He'll take it, though. Even imagined flirting is better than nothing. "I'll be back in a few. Don't miss me too much," he adds on a burst of courage.

"But I will," Jaymi says seriously. "I'll wither if you don't hurry."

"We can't have that." Zayn doesn't want to leave now, he just wants to stay here and keep exchanging whatever they're exchanging. It feels like _something_.

But it actually is really cold, and their windows and door are drafty, and Jaymi is wearing a thin vest top covered in cooling coffee.

"I'll be back," Zayn repeats, pulling his coat back on. He'll have to go back out in the cold slushy snowy windy weather, but for Jaymi, he'll do it. He can't think of anything he wouldn't do for Jaymi, actually.

So he thinks -- cricket. Jaymi said something about his tattoo being from a children's book about a cricket, and at JJ's shop there had been --

Zayn turns on his heel just a few feet away from Trax and bustles into the pawn shop.

"Oh, hi," JJ says cheerfully, obviously surprised to see him again so soon. "Did you think of something?"

"I might've," Zayn mutters. "Are those VHS tapes all still here?"

"Are you asking if anyone's bought a VHS tape since you left? Surprisingly, the answer's no." JJ gives him a look. "They're all still where they were when you last saw them."

"Thanks, man." Zayn skips into the back and rummages through the shelf until he finds what he wanted.

 _A Very Quiet Cricket_ is what the dusty cover reads, and Zayn swipes his coat sleeve over it to get rid of most of the grime. It seems preposterous that this tape would be here, just when he needs to find something perfect for Jaymi, and it's a video of something Jaymi got _tattooed_ on himself. It's perfect. Beyond perfect.

The snow's kicked back up outside the windows when he brings the tape to Jaymi at the counter.

"How much is this?"

"Erm, let me look up the adjusted," JJ says. It takes a minute of flipping through an honest-to-god _Rolodex_ before he says, "About £30. I guess it's a collectible."

Zayn doesn't have £30. He's barely got £3. "Can I trade you something for it?" he asks, his mind whirring with the thoughts of all the things he owns that he doesn't need. Anything, anything.

"Sure," JJ says. He sounds a bit strangled. "Yeah, just bring in whatever and we'll look it up."

"Okay," Zayn mutters. He'd ask JJ why he's gone weird but he's rather concerned with his own problems right now. "Shit, I don't own anything that's worth £30." He frowns, and then it comes to him. "I've got -- It's got like writing and doodles and stuff on it but it's pretty old, and I think it's a collectible too, would my Sega work?"

There's a vein in JJ's neck that looks like it might pop out of his skin. "Yeah. That would do. Depends on how it runs -- it does run, yeah?"

"Yeah, it runs great." Zayn'll be sad to part with it, because it's honestly one of his favorite possessions, but, well, Jaymi's his favorite _person_. "Got controls and everything. I can be back with it in a bit, if that works?"

JJ nods, and just keeps nodding like a bobblehead in an earthquake, so Zayn sort of salutes him and walks out the door.

He makes a twisting detour before he goes back to the flat because he didn't get nearly enough of that coffee and though he hates to admit when George is right, it really was exactly what he needed.

 ** _005._**  
There is something amiss in the tea latte that George gives Harry in the morning.

It's so very unlike George that Harry is immediately on alert. It's still delicious, still hot and steaming and _good_ , but there's something not quite right. It's not exactly what Harry wants.

"Alright?" he asks casually, taking another sip and leaning against George's side.

George nods, but his brow is furrowed. He tilts his head and stares at the side of Harry's jaw for a long moment, right where it curves into the back of Harry's ear hidden by curls. "You wanted more ginger, didn't you."

It isn't a question, but George sounds -- sadly unsure, and a bit small.

Harry settles his head on George's shoulder, his nose pressed up close to George's neck. "It's okay. What's wrong, Georgie?"

George swallows and his fingers tip up under the hem of Harry's t-shirt to pet his hip lightly once or twice. "It's nothing. Nothing important. I'm sorry I got your drink wrong."

"It doesn't matter, I told you. You're what matters," states Harry simply. "Tell me what's wrong. I can help."

George looks over at Harry, and their faces are a little too close to see clearly, but Harry can tell that George's huge brown eyes are wide and utterly despondent.

"I don't feel Christmassy this year. It feels like, like, like _March_ to me."

"Not March," Harry says sympathetically. He rests his forehead against George's. "You always feel Christmassy. Last year you got that jumper that lights up on Rudolph's nose and I swear you didn't take it off until July."

"I love that jumper," George says, perking up a bit. Then he deflates. "I just wish it felt right to wear it. I don't know what it is."

"We'll figure it out," Harry promises. "And then I'll have to take that jumper off you myself to get you out of it."

George gives him a little smile and nuzzles at Harry's nose. "Yes, please."

"I thought you might like that idea." Harry presses his cheek against George's and hums happily. "Anything else you'd like, to get you in the Christmas spirit?"

George looks out the window of their flat. It's still pitch-dark outside; the earliest risers in their flat, since they both have tasks before their shop opens that far outstrip the others'. They don't mind it, although this morning, George can see snow swirling around the lampposts down below.

"Maybe we could add more decorations to the shop?" he asks dubiously. "I don't know where we could put them."

"Anywhere, we can put them anywhere. Everywhere." Harry pecks George's cheek and grins at him. "I know just the thing, actually. Can you check on the muffins in five minutes, and I'll be back in twenty?"

George nods. "Do I need to do anything special, like sing to them or tell them that they're beautiful or anything?"

Harry looks thoughtful. "If you could tell them that they're really sexy, that'd be great. They've been a bit deflated lately and I think that'll really perk up their confidence."

George blinks twice. "You're making fun of me."

"Would I ever?" Harry frowns at him. "I'm serious. More serious than I've ever been. I want confident, sensual muffins."

"Get out of here." George giggles and pushes at Harry's hips. "We'll see who takes you seriously next time you need someone to cuddle the sourdough while you take a wee."

"The sourdough gets testy if it doesn't have its morning cuddle," Harry protests. "What've you got against the sourdough?"

"Nothing, nothing," George says, holding up his hands in placation. "I'll check on your muffins. I'll even sing them a little LMFAO."

"Good, you'd better. If I get back and they tell me you haven't, I'll be cross with you." Harry smiles at George, because he's never been cross with him in his life, and George knows that. "I'll be right back."

George nods. He fetches a scarf from its hook on the wall and winds it around Harry's neck, tucking the ends lovingly into Harry's jacket. "Stay warm."

"I won't be long." Harry smiles at him, bouncing on his toes. "You'll see, I'll have you singing carols before today's out." He cups George's cheek and rubs his thumb over the apple of it before bounding out the door, disappearing into the dark and cold.

George sighs and wanders around the empty bakery. It's spotlessly clean, and there's nothing to add to the pastry case yet, so all he can do is check on the decorations. He plugs in the fairy lights and the Christmas tree in the front corner (all of its ornaments red and gold) and the Christmas tree in the back corner (blue and silver). There are tinsel garlands strung around the ceiling and paper snowflakes hanging from the ceiling.

Harry's back in exactly twenty minutes with a bag on his arm, pink-cheeked and red-nosed and his hair all blown to one side. 

"It's very cold outside," he informs George, plunking the bag on the counter and sending up a small cloud of flour. "Very, very cold. Don't go out, you'll catch your death."

George leans in and presses warm kisses to Harry's red cheek. "I won't. Thanks for the warning, but I'd guessed from the snow."

Harry laughs and tucks in close to George for a quick cuddle. "You're as smart as I'd thought, then. Did you tell the muffins how sexy they were?"

"I did, and I think a blueberry winked at me." George nestles his face into the curve of Harry's neck. He smells like vanilla and almond.

"Good, that's how you know they'll be scrumptious." Harry sighs and shakes out his snowy hair. "Alright, now you've got to go back into the kitchen so I can make this place look pretty, as a surprise."

George doesn't spend a lot of time in the kitchen proper. Every few weeks, has to boil up huge batches of simple syrup to infuse with various spices or herbs to flavor drinks with, or he might make little sheets of crumbles or cookies to sprinkle over whipped cream, but the kitchen is pretty squarely Harry's domain. Every inch of it, every tile and every whisk, seems to spell out his name. George likes that.

He loiters back there, until Harry pops his head into the room with a grin and a bit of tinsel in his hair. "Hi!" he greets. "Alright, it's done. If you don't feel festive once you see all this, I'll have to take drastic measures."

George gives Harry a little smile. "I shudder to think."

"Come here and look," urges Harry. "It sparkles. We've got to be really careful not to get glitter in anybody's food, though."

George blinks and takes Harry's outstretched hand, intrigued, and lets Harry lead him out into the front of the shop.

It _does_ sparkle. George doesn't know where Harry got everything, but there are garlands draping over the door frame and twining around the little trees, and there's glittering ribbon lining the counter. In the dusky purple light coming through the front window there are fairy lights glowing yellow against the walls, and George thinks he can see more bells above the door than there were before.

George smiles, because he _does love_ Christmas decorations, and it's very pretty, but just having "more" isn't having _Christmas_.

"That's not all," Harry assures him, squeezing his hand. George glances at him, and Harry grins, pointing to the ceiling. "Look up."

He's half sure of what he'll find when he cranes his neck, but it still brings a grin to his face when he sees the pointed edges of green leaves all tied together and hastily secured with a fat red bow.

George giggles and lets Harry pull him closer, one hand feathered through George's hair and the other wrapped around George's hip.

"You're ridiculous," he whispers, kissing the corner of Harry's mouth. "Absolutely ridiculous."

"Do you feel more merry?" Harry murmurs, nuzzling George's nose. Before he can answer, Harry's kissing him properly.

They don't really kiss very often, not really. Cheek kisses and neck kisses and sometimes Harry kisses George's shoulder, but like this, kissing that makes it a little hard to breathe... George wishes they did that more.

It's just that they're too busy, usually, and then they're sleepy, and then they're actually asleep, and it's just -- it's nice to be _awake_ for a good kiss from Harry, able to wind both arms around Harry's neck and knock their toes together in their sneakers as they snuggle closer and it's nice when one of Harry's hands slips into George's back pocket, just like an anchor.

When it's dark like this in the mornings and darker by the time they get home, it seems like there's less time for everything, but George wants to make sure they always have time for this. It's important to have around this time of year. It's important to have the things he cares about close enough to breathe into and hold close to his heart.

Harry pulls away when the bell -- one of the many bells, really -- on their door jingles, but when it's only Ella, Harry turns back to George and taps the end of his nose. "Are you feeling more merry? You never answered."

"Hmm, might need a little more merrymaking," George mumbles, scrunching up his face and landing another kiss to Harry's lips before he turns to Ella and gives her a smile. "What can we do for you, pretty miss? No, wait, I know what you need." He does, too, and he immediately sets about making the perfect drink for Ella. "You are going to need this," he mutters absently.

Ella tilts her head. "That sounds oddly ominous, not jolly." She looks around the shop. "It looks like Santa's workshop exploded in here. And you both have glitter in your hair."

"Mm, you're right, aren't you?" George muses, crossing his eyes to look at the flip of his fringe, dusted with silver flecks of glitter. "Festive, though. We could all do with a bit of glitter in our hair."

Ella laughs, and George gives her a sheepish grin as he mixes her frothy milk with the sweet ganache of milk chocolate and vanilla praline that's lining the bottom of Ella's takeaway cup.

"I don't suppose you want glitter in this?" George asks, smiling widely at her. He can't stop smiling, really, and it's all Harry's fault.

"No, I think my insides are festive enough," Ella assures him. "As long as it's hot, I'm happy. It's awfully cold today, isn't it?"

"Don't dawdle outside," Harry warns from behind George, draping himself over George's back. "It's freezing, you'll catch cold and then I'll have to bring you soup."

"Do you make soup?" Ella asks curiously. She watches George artfully arrange cloud-shaped marshmallows all over the top of her cocoa.

"I dabble. For you, of course I make soup, love." George can nearly feel the blinding smile Harry offers Ella.

Ella reaches over the counter to tweak Harry's cheek right at the dimple. "Charmer. Charmers, the both of you! You're public menaces, even covered in glitter."

George sketches out a bow. "Then our work is done. All I've ever really wanted to accomplish was being a public menace."

Ella wraps one gloved hand around her cup. "I'm leaving now, and I'm taking this cocoa with me. Have a good morning, you horrible menaces. Don't snog so much you fog up all the windows."

"No promises." George laughs, and Harry wraps his arms around George's waist and squeezes.

The door jingles again as Ella lets herself outside, and George turns to kiss Harry's cheek. 

"Thank you for my Christmas decorations. I do feel a bit back to myself."

"Only a bit?"

George smiles, nuzzling against the side of Harry's face. "Only a bit," he confirms.

Harry's brow creases and he hums thoughtfully. "Well, I'm going to have to try harder if I want you all the way back to yourself, I guess. Prepare for a very Christmassy day, Georgie."

"I think I'll be able to handle that, weirdly enough. Don't get glitter in the food," George instructs. "Does this mean I can wish everyone a Harry Christmas?"

Harry's eyes light up. " _Of course it does_!"

George laughs, popping up on his toes to kiss Harry's head. "Then I accept your challenge. Christmas me until I drop."

Underneath the mop of hair frosted in droplets of melted snow and flecks of glitter, Harry's smile turns wicked. He gives George's waist a squeeze, then disappears into his kitchen.

George has half a moment of worrying about what he's just signed up for before he relaxes. It's Harry. Even at his most diabolical, he'd never actually _hurt_ George.

And you can't hurt someone with Christmas, anyway. Not unless he got wrapped in fairy lights like a Christmas tree, or something, and honestly, no one is that stupid.

George frowns and begins to mix up the ingredients for a gingerbread latte. They're Louis' favorite and it's nearing the time for his first snit.

Louis doesn't like anything too sweet, so there's always just a hint of clementine peel on the finish of his gingerbread where everyone else gets brown sugar or clove crumble. That's the sort of thing George prides himself on, normally; knowing what people want. Especially his friends.

Maybe that's why he hasn't felt Christmassy this year. He can't seem to figure out what's up with most of them -- Ella and Liam are fine, they're adorable. JJ and Niall are always okay. But Josh, particularly, and Louis... George wants _them_ to feel merry and jolly and spirited and he distinctly can sense that they _don't_. He wants to fix it.

They might just need a little glitter in their hair, but George would rather keep both of his hands instead of going near Louis' hair with glitter.

He hopes that Harry can help them too. George just wants everyone to be happy and when his friends aren't happy, he feels helpless, out of sync. Josh and Louis deserve to be happy, and he doesn't know if they know that.

And Jaymi and Zayn, too. Watching them is getting to the point of pain, and George doesn't see how they're both _still so oblivious_. It makes him want to -- want to -- want to _pelt them with marshmallows_.

He wonders if that might work. He snorts. Only if the marshmallows were in the shape of hearts, and had writing on them spelling out _you're in love, idiots, now kiss please_.

George pauses in cleaning the cappuccino machine. He could probably make those. _If they haven't got it together by Valentine's Day, he's doing it. And custom love hearts, too._

They're worth the extra time it'll take in the bakery. Harry will help him, too, he's sure of it. 

Who knows? Maybe by Valentine’s Day, everyone will have figured their shit out. Maybe that can be the world's present to George.

George harrumphs a little and sets to mixing the blend for Louis' latte, getting it set for the inevitable explosion.

"Harry," he calls, and he knows he sounds a little whiny. "I'm feeling un-Christmas again."

"Do you need me to snog you under the mistletoe again?" Harry sounds positively cheerful. "I think I could make the sacrifice."

"Yes, please," George grumps. Outside, across the street, the lights of Trax finally click on. Jaymi must be awake.

Harry twirls through the doorway and gathers George in his arms, smacking kisses to his cheeks. "Like this?” he asks loudly, over George's giggles. "Are you Christmassed?"

George keeps giggling, but ducks his head to rest on Harry's shoulder. "I don't think I'll be rightfully Christmassed until I feel like all our friends are. And that might take forever."

"I have a good feeling about this year." Harry rubs George's back and kisses his head. "Don't you worry your pretty little mind."

“Do you know something I don't?"

"I know many things you don't," Harry says simply. "I know the difference between fruitcake, Christmas cake, stollen, and panettone, even."

"You know what I'm talking about," whines George. "Tell me. Aren't I your favorite?"

Harry's eyes soften. "Of course you are. That's why you have to trust me that everything will turn out just how you'd like this Christmas."

"You know I trust you." George sighs and noses against Harry's jaw. "I'm just worried."

"Don't be," Harry says firmly. "I know something about Louis that you don't, and it's more than just that he secretly _does_ like sugar in his tea sometimes."

"I knew that, though!" George protests.

"Right, well it's not that. Just wait and see. Everything will turn out just perfect, Georgie." Harry rubs George's back again.

George sighs and rests his head against Harry's shoulder to stare out the window. "No one's coming in today. I think it's too snowy for people to want to leave the city and come out to the island today. I wish we could close early and take a nap."

Harry frowns. "Well, now I'm worried about _you_. Have you had your own coffee yet?"

George shakes his head, and Harry snorts a little laugh. "Well, that explains a lot. Drink your coffee and you'll feel better."

"Maybe I'm just tired." George sighs. "Are you _sure_ I can't take a nap? I can just nap on you." He leans on Harry's shoulder and pretends to snore.

Harry chuckles. "You can nap on me anytime. Except when I'm attempting a baumkuchen."

"I don't even know what a bomb-cookin' is," George laughs. "I assume it's got Christmas spirit?"

"It does," Harry confirms. "But I don't know that I can make one. I can't speak German, so we're having issues."

"I can speak German," George says. "Or, well, I know a Beatles song in German. Does that count?"

"Maybe," Harry says thoughtfully. "I'll ask and let you know. Like all the other Christmas cakes, this one has to sit by itself for a while to get all good. I'm unmolding the Christmas Cake in a bit, if you'd like to watch. Or taste. Or help."

Harry never asks if George wants to help him bake. George bites the inside of his own cheek to dampen his grin.

"I might want to help, yeah. If you want my help. I'd love to." George bounces on his toes. "Really?"

"I wouldn't offer if it weren't really," Harry says. He looks a little puffed up, like a proud owl, at having made George so happy so easily.

"Then I accept." George tips his nose in the air in a show of mock-conceit. "Even though there are loads of things I'd totally rather be doing."

Harry pats George's arm and is just holding open the swinging door into the kitchen so George can pass through when instead, Louis swirls through the front door like a snowy, angry cyclone, and yowls, "That _girl_ has adopted a great mangy _dog_ to live in the _music shop_ , and Josh will not shut up about it!"

It's a good thing George has got Louis' latte all made because it's just in time to hand it to him. George ducks a flailing arm and offers the cup with a hopefully endearing smile.

Louis barely spares him a _thanks_. "It's just, how many new things need to take Josh's attention away from me? I mean, away from my shop?"

"Away from you," Harry corrects gently, coaxing Louis into a seat and plopping down beside him. "Say what you mean, mean what you say."

"Never explain, never complain," Louis mocks. "Just because you can make it rhyme does not make it good advice, Harold."

"Sure it does," Harry says. "Just breathe and drink your coffee, and I'll bring you a sarnie, alright? Be right back."

"No, I don't want one," Louis says, and George and Harry both. Stop. "I don't want more things, I want things to go back how they _were_."

"Have things really changed so much?" asks George gently. He usually leaves this sort of thing to Harry, because Louis -- well, frightens him a little, but he'll need to get over that eventually. "What's so different?"

Louis glowers up at him, and George knows that part of Louis' answer will always be _Harry spends time with you that he used to spend with me_ , but he stays steady-on.

"Things can't always stay the same," Harry interrupts, his face set. "Or nothing would ever get better. Liam's happier now, with someone to help him mind the shop. And you _like_ Ella, I know you do, even if you don't want to."

Louis' eyebrow twitches. "She has good taste in dresses."

"And in tea," George inserts, fidgeting and then getting up to make -- something, he's not sure what, but he thinks Louis might actually set him ablaze if he stays where he is longer.

Maybe he will make those heart-shaped marshmallows. Marshmallows are fun enough to make, and they could be Christmassy if he cuts the rest into stars or something. Marshmallows. Yes.

To be honest, sometimes he thinks Josh and Louis could use the same sort of marshmallows as Jaymi and Zayn. Not that he thinks they should be kissing everywhere, really, just that sometimes he thinks they want to, a little. Or at least they don't hate each other, like Louis makes it sound all the time.

It just doesn't seem like Louis would be so afraid of things changing if they weren't stealing bits of Josh's time away from being spent with Louis. Much as he only dislikes -- or maybe not even, George is never sure -- George himself for taking bits of Louis' Harry Time away.

And Louis loves Harry. For whatever else, that's why he wants his time. So he must love Josh, too, at least a little.

He and Harry are murmuring now, voices lowered, though George can still hear how Louis sounds disgruntled. Harry's good for getting people to feel better, though, and he's especially good at making Louis feel better.

It's one of the things George likes best about Harry, actually. Because Louis is to Harry what Josh has been to George since they were little kids back on the mainland and Josh showed George how to catch a Mewtwo, and well, if it's a bit selfish that Harry and George want their other soulmates to get along, then so be it.

George doesn't think that's an awful thing to want. And it's a lovely thing to have, a soulmate. Two's just better than one, isn't it? And George wants everyone to know what he knows, and feel all the good things that he feels from having both a Harry and a Josh.

He sighs. Marshmallows. If he doesn't make marshmallows, he'll start to feel sad and un-Christmassy again. Maybe he'll dust them in icing sugar so they sparkle like all the glitter Harry has strewn around.

George does love a bit of sparkle. And he thinks that's just what a few of his other friends could use as well.

Eventually, the bell on the door jingles again and Harry tromps into the kitchen, quietly surveying where George is spreading out his pan of gelatin, corn syrup, sugar, and vanilla.

"Are you out already?"

George shakes his head. "I'm making ones like love hearts and I'm going to throw them at Zayn and Jaymi. And maybe Louis and Josh; I haven't decided."

"Good," Harry says, coming up behind him and giving George a backwards hug. "I think they could use it. I might've talked some sense into him this time, though."

"What was he saying about Ella getting a dog?" George looks over his shoulder at Harry.

"Oh, I guess she found it on the pavement today." Harry frowns a little. "We should go over and see it later. Lou's up in arms because it's cuter than him and he thinks Josh likes it better."

"All dogs are cuter than all people," George says sagely. "He should get used to it. Is it a large dog? How is it going to live in the music shop? Won't it break everything?"

"It's a puppy, tiny, and he said it was even cuter than you, which I don't believe is possible." Harry shrugs. "He wasn't really explaining much. Just muttering and glaring, mostly."

"He can't seriously be jealous of a _puppy_ and _not acknowledge_ how much he likes Josh, can he?" George looks hopeful.

Harry levels a look at George. "Have you met Louis?"

George sighs and shunts his marshmallows aside so they can set. "Cake, I suppose? When there's nothing else to be done, at least there's cake."

"Cake, it is," agrees Harry. "Nothing can go wrong with a good bit of cake."

He gives George a grin and bites his lip. "I've never been able to make this one properly. It just doesn't work when I try, and it takes _months_ so I'm -- yeah, let's hope the spirit of Christmas hasn't abandoned us both."

Harry shuffles off into the cupboard and comes back with a heavy, round-bottomed cake tin covered in a dark cloth.

"What is it?" George asks, his curiosity peaked. "It takes _months_?"

"Yeah, you bake it, right? And then you let it rest in the dark for months to get the flavors all gelled and you feed it brandy every few days, and every time I try -- " Harry pulls off the cloth and opens the ring around the pan. The cake slumps out like it's waking up unhappily from a long sleep, and Harry's shoulders do the same. "It's just mush. Every time I try, it's just mush."

"Oh, I'm sorry." George hooks his arm through Harry's and leans his head on his shoulder. "It -- It's not supposed to look like that, is it?"

Harry shakes his head sadly. "It's supposed to look like cake. Three months of work and I can't even give anyone something Christmassy. For all the glitter I put up, I still can't do Christmas."

"Of course you can," George says, his voice firm. "If I can do Christmas, so can you."

"No, you don't understand," Harry mumbles. "Before you moved here, the old baker -- the _real_ one, who _knows_ baking, she used to make a Christmas cake here every year and then when she left and Cowell let me have the bakery, all these little old people came in and were worried I'd stop making them, and I promised I would, and last year I failed, and now this year I've failed again." 

He looks so upset that George has to fold Harry into a hug, letting him bury his face in the side of George's chest.

"You haven't failed. That's, you know what we can do?" George pets through Harry's hair, and kisses his head. "It's the perfect consistency, even. We can make cake balls out of this."

Harry looks up with horrified eyes. "We don't make cake balls here. Or cake pops, or cake lollies, or anything of the sort. They're tacky."

George puts his hands on his hips and frowns severely at Harry. " _It's Christmas_. If there was ever a time to be tacky, it's now."

Harry's green eyes are huge and it's the rare moments like this one that it hits George that he is, actually, the older of the two.

"What if everyone hates new things as much as Louis does?"

He cups Harry's face in both hands and kisses him, keeping their lips pressed together until he can feel Harry start to respond.

"Everyone's going to love them," he says, leaning his forehead against Harry's. "They'll be delicious."

Harry's nose wrinkles. He groans. " _So tacky_."

"You hush and start them," George says firmly. "I'll fix a drink that'll go well with them."

Harry grumbles, but after George has gone back out to the barista counter to start blending something pale, rich, and plain -- maybe eggnog-based -- to go with the salvaged cake, he can hear Harry digging through a silverware drawer for a melonballer to start scooping up cake.

He smiles victoriously to himself. This is going to be a great Christmas. He's determined to make it one, even if he has to pelt holiday spirit-filled marshmallows at everyone else.

When Josh comes in later, he's the guinea pig for the cake pops (besides George, who has eaten four and feels just a little tipsy from all the brandy.)

He thinks he might be more flushed than usual, as well, and finds himself laughing at nothing.

"What do you think?" he asks, bouncing a little bit. "Are they good? They're good, aren't they? Don't you think they're good?"

"Yeah, they're fine," Josh finally laughs, on his way out the door. "Fruity. They're nice. Not _gauche_ , Harry, honestly. Only you and Louis use that word."

"It's a good description," Harry grumbles, folding his arms over his chest. He might look more intimidating if it weren't for the dark smear of chocolate on his cheek.

George hops over, stumbling a little over the laces of his boots, and swipes the chocolate away with his thumb. If he sucks on it a little suggestively, he'll blame the brandy.

It makes Harry look less sulky, anyway, and that's what George was going for. He has fantastic plans when there's brandy involved.

After Josh has left -- hopefully to _talk to Louis_ \-- Harry turns to George and tousles his hair.

"No more cake for you," he says decisively. "And I think we should put an age restriction on it before we sell it, judging by the color of your cheeks."

"This is the same color my cheeks normally are," George insists. He can't stop grinning at Harry. "It's really warm in here, you know, with all the ovens."

"Yes, and all the snow with the door constantly opening." Harry sounds amused, and he rubs George's shoulder. "Go drink some coffee and sober up, love."

"Give me a kiss first?" George tilts his head up and nods toward the mistletoe. Technically, he supposes, he was meant to kiss Josh beneath it, but Josh didn't notice and George certainly didn't tell him about it.

Harry sighs and rolls his eyes, but gamely kisses George's lips, then nose, then swats his behind to send him on his way.

George has had a cup and a half of coffee and is beginning to feel jittery rather than giggly when Niall turns up, clumping through the door loudly.

"Cold out," he announces, shaking snowflakes off his blond head. "Nearly slipped on my way here."

George frowns at that, and fumbles around under the countertop for his gloves. "I'll go salt the pavement, then. Bit of bracing cold might do me some good. Harry got me _drunk at work_."

"Good show," Niall says appreciatively. "Lemme have some."

“You can have one, and one only, Niall," Harry says, offering him one of the cake balls. "They're a bit strong, as you can see."

"Aw, geroff it, I can handle my booze ten times better than George." Niall selects a bonbon and pops it in his mouth. He talks with his mouth full. "George weighs less than a shotglass."

"You're one to talk, when I can see all your bones and everything." George gives Niall a prod in the ribs. "I can so handle my booze. They're just _cake with brandy in_. And I had four."

Niall gives George a chocolate-mouthed grin and pokes him right back. "Lightweight. Go fix your storefront before someone breaks a leg. Getting people drunk and sending them out onto the fecking ice; you two are even more evil than we always thought."

George sticks out his tongue, but he collects the salt bag from behind the counter and slips around to scatter it around their doorway. There are city workers who usually come round in a while, but it's too early for them yet, and George has no problem doing it himself.

The cold air does feel good, kissing at his pink cheeks. If he'd eaten any more of that cake, he'd've needed to take his jumper off.

He's wearing a t-shirt underneath, but he likes his jumper. It's striped red and white and it makes him feel like a candy cane when he's in the right mood for it. Or drunk enough for it, as the case may be.

But one more shot of brandy, and he'd've been all feverish and drunk. It would have probably turned out well for Harry, but not for George's dignity. The shop has a _lot_ of windows.

He smiles to himself as he crushes some of the salt beneath his foot, scraping it along the ice in front of their door. He could be persuaded, with a bit more brandy, to let go of his dignity. Dignity's overrated, anyway.

Or at least it's overrated when it leads to feeling jolly and Christmassy again, and the alternative is feeling... normal.

"All better," he announces, crunching more salt as he trudges back inside the shop where it's warm and cozy. The cold was good as a shock to get him back to himself, and he does feel less giddy in general, but his good mood is intact, thankfully. "You should probably stick around while it melts, though, just a few minutes?"

“Sure," Niall says around a mouthful of turkey on cranberry bread. "If you're feeding me, I'm staying. Also I need three drinks; one for me, one for Jayj, and then Zayn stopped by."

"I'll get on that!" George responds, sliding over the counter even though he knows he's not supposed to. "One for Zayn, you said? I know just the thing..."

"You ought to make it great, because Jaymi's giving him the weirdest gift," Niall comments. "Maybe you can make up for it."

"Oh, did he figure out what he wants to get him?" George asks, ignoring the first part of Niall's sentence. As though he ever makes anything that's less than great. "He's been stressing about it for _ages_."

"Well, he backed the wrong horse, then." Niall shakes his head. There's a smear of cranberry mustard on the side of his chin. "He traded in this book he got when he was born, yeah, and he even has a _tattoo_ of it, to get Zayn this old shitty Sega Genesis game about Michael Jackson."

George gasps aloud and nearly drops the peppermint extract. "He traded his Cricket book?" he exclaims, mouth fallen open. "He loves that book!"

"Yeah, well," Niall shrugs. "Let's hope Zayn loves Michael Jackson even more, then. I don't think I ever expected to say that sentence."

"He does have a bit of a thing for Michael, you know," Harry muses, leaning on the counter. "And he's _got_ a Sega, so he might enjoy it. What's the point of a Michael Jackson video game? What does he do in it? Moonwalk?" Harry proceeds to attempt a frankly atrocious moonwalk across the floor.

"I can do that better," George challenges, and does so.

"You're both idiots," says Niall. "And yeah, that's basically the game. I think there might be aliens or smooth criminals, maybe."

"Zombies!" exclaims George, deliberately moonwalking into Harry. "Maybe it's Michael Jackson fighting zombies. I'd probably trade Harry for that game."

Harry grabs George around the waist with both arms and lifts him off the floor, just dangling him as he leans around to talk to Niall. "But Jaymi really gave up that much just to get it for Zayn?"

"Yeah," Niall confirms. "Traded it this morning. Jayj tried to convince him to just owe him but he wouldn't." He takes another large bite of sandwich and talks through it. " 'e loo'ed gu'ed whennee lef'."

"Well, yeah, I'd say so," George murmurs. When he first moved to the island, Josh introduced him to Jaymi before anyone else, even before Harry. "Why didn't he want to owe?"

"He's goin' to pay for half of Zayn's airline ticket for his birthday," Niall reports. "I don't think Zayn knows that, though, so keep it mum."

George sighs. "When are those two going to get their acts together? Everyone knows except them. Idiots."

Niall shrugs and shakes his head. "You all make it so difficult. That's not what life's about. Life is just about eating, sleeping, drinking, and chilling. You need to learn from me."

There's cranberry in his eyebrow.

“We could all do with learning from you," George agrees, grabbing a napkin and dapping at Niall's face. "You're obviously not stressed about anything."

Niall grins. "Never, mate. D'you have my drinks? JJ will be worrying about me by now. He doesn't have to, but he thinks I'm accident-prone or something."

"Can't imagine why," Harry says, grabbing a cardboard tray and unfolding it so that George can put the drinks inside.

"This one's Zayn's. Make sure he gets that one," says George firmly, writing a Z on the side of it. "It's really important he gets that one."

Niall narrows his eyes. "Are you still drunk, or has JJ been right all along that you two do magic?"

George grins at him innocently. "We're Christmas elves, of course we do magic."

Niall's eyes stay suspicious, but he takes the drinks. "If I switch mine with his, will I grow gills or something?"

"Why would we want Zayn to grow gills?" Harry asks curiously.

"I don't know! Maybe it affects Irish people differently?" Niall guesses. "You never know, with you two."

George and Harry exchange a theatrical smirk, and Niall shakes his head as he shunts out the door. He wobbles on the ice, but doesn't fall.

"Hmm, you know, this is going to be a good day." George leans back to rest against Harry's chest. "A really good day, once everyone gets going."

Harry kisses the side of George's head. "Any day that includes you drunk before two pm is a good day."

"I'm not drunk," George protests. "Anymore."

"Lies," insists Harry. "You're lying to me and I won't stand for it. I think I need to kiss the truth out of you, Georgie."

Before he can, though, Zayn shuffles into the bakery. With a beat-up old Sega Genesis controller under his arm.

000.  
If George hadn't felt Christmassy in the morning, and Harry had been deflated over his cake in the afternoon, they both make up for it in the evening as Harry sells off meat pies and pasties for cold-weather suppers and George makes peppermint latte after peppermint latte. After they turn over the 'closed' sign, they leave their fairy lights on while they clean up the shop and Harry sets a batch of simple fruitcake out to mature overnight. 

"Now, don't be upset," he murmurs to it, tapping the bubbles out of the tin, "But I have to leave you for a few hours. I'll come back, though. Promise."

George slips his hands under the hem of Harry's jumper and rests them over the curve of Harry's warm waist. "Are you ready to go home and open presents with everyone?"

"I will be soon," Harry says, and gives George a mischievous smile before hauling him in for another grand kiss under the sprig of mistletoe. Once George has pulled away a little breathless, Harry peppers little kisses onto George's neck and declares, "Okay. Now I'm ready to go be with everyone else."

"Good for you, but now I'm not." George's face feels as flushed as it was earlier, and he has an absurd urge to laugh until he can't breathe. "Can we take this with us, do you think? Please?" He points up toward the mistletoe.

Harry kisses the apple of George's pink cheek. "If you really want. It may result in you having to kiss, like, Niall."

"I suppose I'll have to take the risk," sighs George. He drapes his arms over Harry's shoulders. "Maybe I'll have to kiss Jaymi and Zayn'll finally get his act together. Of course, he'll make sure I die in a fiery blaze, but we all have to make sacrifices."

Then George stops.

And blinks.

And has an idea.

"Okay, I need that," he exclaims, clambering up onto the counter to reach and pull it down, trusting Harry to catch him if he slips.

"Didn't realize you wanted to kiss Jaymi so badly," Harry says, and steadies George's hips as he hops down.

George laughs, pecking Harry on the cheek. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm not going to use it to kiss Jaymi. Or, not for me to kiss Jaymi."

" _Ohh_." Harry ruffles George's hair. "You really are evil. An evil genius."

George beams at Harry, and they shoulder into their winter jackets side-by-side to bustle upstairs to the flat.

"Who's here?" calls George as they open the door, listening intently and then whooping with joy as he sets out to decorate even more than they already have.

Harry grins at him and slips out of his coat. "We're alone! That means I don't have to wear trousers." He promptly takes them off and leaves them in the middle of the floor as he scampers away to shower off a day's flour, egg, and icing sugar. And to shampoo the glitter out of his curls.

George rather likes that every time he shakes his hair he deposits glitter on the floor, on the lamp, on the table. The world could do with a bit more sparkle, in his opinion.

It's a bit like when he let Ella give him a makeover because she was lonely and missed her sister. He'd rained glitter for days.

"Where's the best place for the mistletoe?" he calls to Harry, flitting from doorway to doorway. "I can't decide. If we put it over the way into the kitchen then _everyone's_ going to kiss Niall."

"Yeah, that won't solve anything," Harry calls back. "Just put it in the middle of the room, hanging off the light. Unless it's flammable, I guess."

"I don't think it is," mumbles George., frowning at the leaves. "I'll keep an eye on it. If it catches fire, I guess we can put it out."

Harry just starts singing carols in response, so George goes ahead and climbs into the table to hang mistletoe off the overhead light. Pretty.

"Perfect," he announces. "When's everyone due to arrive? Should I shower to get the coffee smell off me? That'll get rid of all the glitter, though."

Harry pads out of the bathroom wearing a towel around his head and nothing else. "Don't know. Probably soon, it's the end of the day. Unless they're all attempting last-minute shopping, but I don't know where they'd get the money."

"I'll get crisps out for Niall, then," George sighs. "And maybe some chocolate, do you think?"

“I always think that," Harry says. He takes off the towel and shakes out his hair, spraying droplets of water everywhere. It's common enough that there are permanent polka dots stained onto the paint of the walls in the corridor. "There should be most of a torte left in the refrigerator."

"I'll get that, too." George skips off to the kitchen as he hears the door open, hoping it's at least not Ella, who hasn't yet got used to Harry's constant nudity.

"Oh, he really is a tiny dog!" Harry coos, and yes, of course it's Ella. "In a tiny little jumper! And he has antlers! Oh," Harry sounds disappointed. "The antlers are fake."

"Yes, he's not a reindeer-dog," says Ella, her voice pitched a bit higher than it normally is. George can sense the blush on her cheeks. "Just a normal puppy."

When George emerges from the kitchen, torte in hand, Harry is knelt on the floor playing tug-of-war with the smallest dog he's _ever seen_ , the tiny thing snuffling around on the floor and desperately pulling with all of its weight on a string wound around one of Harry's fingers.

Ella is standing overhead, one hand over her eyes. She peers out from between her fingers. "Hi, George."

"Hi, Ella," he greets in return. "Sorry about him. Harry, for god's sake, put your dick away before it gets bit off."

"It's bigger than the whole dog," Harry says. He sounds both delighted and smug. "Don't think that will happen. I will put pants on for Ella's sake, I guess."

" _Thank you_ ," says Ella. She sighs and uncovers her eyes when Harry disappears into their bedroom. "Did you want to meet the puppy? His name's Piccolo."

"Yes, I do!" George exclaims. He sets the torte on the coffee table, well out of reach of the pip of a dog, and settles down cross-legged to scoop Piccolo into his hands.

He does look quite cute with his little antlers on and the tiny jumper. He sniffs at George's fingers and then curls up in them, resting his head on George's wrist and yawning.

George pets the puppy's little head where his antlers are slipping off. "Harry's tired you out, has he?"

"I haven't done anything!" Harry huffs at him, exiting their room with his pants slung low on his hips. He's just _barely_ decent, and Ella looks close to covering her eyes again, but drops her hand, resigned.

"Aren't you cold without any clothes on?" she asks Harry.

Harry just grins and galumphs to the floor, sprawled out beside George with their knees touching so both boys can pet the dozing puppy. Its little paws kick in its sleep.

"I'm taking a picture," announces a voice from the door, and both Harry and George flash grins to the doorway as the camera clicks. "Thanks," Liam mutters, fiddling with the controls on the back of it. "I can use this for, well, not blackmail, but I'll think of something."

"He's so cute!" George gushes.

"And Piccolo is, too," adds Harry.

George laughs, stroking his fingers over the puppy's head. "I want one," he coos, lying back on the floor so that the puppy can sleep on his chest.

"He can't live in the flat," Liam and Ella say together. 

"He's going to live in the music shop once he's bigger," Ella explains. "But he was in a bad way this morning when I found him, so I want to keep him with me at all times until we can see a veterinarian."

"That's probably a good idea. Look, he moves when I breathe!" George takes a deep breath and watches the puppy rise on his chest. "Zayn's going to love him; you won't be able to get him to leave."

Liam smiles a little indulgently at that. "I hope Zayn loves him. Maybe he'll be less lonely with a dog around."

"I think he'll be alright." George smiles at Harry, playing with one of the puppy's ear. "Holiday spirit, and all."

"But it's not his holiday," Liam reminds George. "We should all be nice to him. He's seemed down lately."

"Who has?" Jaymi asks, coming through the door behind Liam. "Is that a dog on George?"

"Look," George croons, sitting up carefully and collecting the puppy in his hands. "Look, Jaymi, it's a puppy, isn't he cute?"

"He is," Jaymi agrees. He crouches down and gives first George, then the puppy, a scratch behind the ears.

George preens, pulling his knees up and letting Piccolo rest on them, scratching his belly. "I love him," he declares. "I'm going to love him forever."

"We already know all about how you feel about soulmates, George," Zayn sighs, and the door bangs shut behind them. "Why are we all stood in the door? It's cold."

"It _is_ cold, and poor Piccolo should be warm," Harry chides, cupping a hand over the puppy's ears. "He's a growing boy."

"We already know all about your prick, Harry." Zayn edges around Liam, Ella, and Jaymi, and stops stock-still. "That's a dog. In a jumper."

"He's the cutest thing in the world." George smiles, holding him up toward Zayn. "Do you want to hold him? He's got little antlers, see?"

"Who let Harry and George get a dog?" Zayn asks, but does indeed want to hold him, and scoops Piccolo out of George's cupped hands. Piccolo barks once, or squeaks, and kneads at the pads of Zayn's hands with his tiny front paws.

"It's not ours, it's Ella's." George gestures toward her, standing a little awkwardly beside Liam. "She saved him from the snow this morning. She's a hero."

Zayn's face breaks. "He was lost in the snow? Alone?"

"Yeah, if I hadn't heard him whining..." Ella shivers. "I brought him back to the music shop, gave him some water and food and helped him warm up."

"He had a little cape made of a spit cloth," Liam explains, nudging Ella's waist with his elbow. "It was both brilliant and adorable."

Ella's gone a funny pink shade, and she shrugs. "I just did what anyone would do. Maybe not the cape," she concedes. "It did look darling on him, though."

"So does this jumper," Zayn coos, batting back with the tip of one finger when Piccolo takes a fierce swipe at him. They growl at each other for a moment before Zayn looks up and says, "Louis will flip, though. His least favorite thing is animals dressed like people."

"He saw him earlier, and he did look a bit grumpy," Ella remembers. "I thought that was just because Josh wasn't paying attention to him."

"But he's who brought Piccolo the jumper," Liam says. He looks befuddled. "Josh was surprised, too."

"What was I surprised by?" comes Josh's voice from around the edge of the door. He looks bewildered as he closes it. "Lou'll be by in a few, he was clearing up and told me to go ahead."

"The puppy having clothes," George says. He finally stands, since Zayn is still holding Piccolo and the consensus seems to be to let him. "Are you feeling any better than earlier?"

Josh smiles, an actual smile and not one of his posing-for-a-camera-that-isn't-there smiles. "Yeah, loads better. Thanks."

George grins and grabs Josh's wrist to drag him into the kitchen to bring out the rest of the food and all of the gifts to set under their tree.

The others trickle in, JJ and Niall first and then, finally, cursing and shaking snow off his coat, Louis.

"I'm never leaving again, not until it's spring." He hangs up his coat and straightens his jumper.

He looks around and his eyes land on Piccolo in Zayn's hands. "Oh, it's the dog in people clothes. In my home. Shedding."

"Louis, its hairs are like, a centimeter long. You'll live."

"And anyway," Josh adds, looking over his shoulder at Louis. "It's got a little jumper to catch all the hairs. Isn't that a laugh, dogs in jumpers?"

Louis' face looks surprisingly soft. "Stupid, really. Unless they were trapped in a snowbank and need the warmth. So he gets a pass, but just until spring."

"Right, just until spring." The corner of Josh's mouth turns up. "Then he can't wear jumpers anymore."

"Never again," Louis says firmly. He jumps over the back of the sofa and settles down. "Now lavish me with gifts, all of you."

"I'll lavish you with something else," laughs Harry, flopping down across Louis' lap and squirming until he's comfortable. "Like me, I'll lavish you with me, is that alright? Do I count as a present?"

"No, because you come with the George attachment and I can't use that one," Louis says. "Josh is too protective of him."

Harry sighs, but doesn't move too far, just until he can lean against Louis' side with George on the other. Everyone else takes a seat around the room until they're in a mishapen circle, half on top of everyone else.

Zayn, with Piccolo on his thigh, is sat on the floor right in front of Jaymi's chair, bracketed by Jaymi's legs.

It makes George smile, and when he looks around, he can see that several of the others are hiding smiles as well.

"Who wants to go first?" he asks, leaning onto Harry's shoulder and putting his other hand on Josh's leg next to him.

Harry and George haven't bought each other anything, because their gift to each each other is a weekend off in the city on the mainland for Valentine's Day.

(Louis throws a wad of wrapping paper at them and nearly refuses to talk to Harry for the rest of the day. "If you get any more cheesy, Niall's going to eat you," he huffs.)

Liam bought Ella concert tickets, and George shoots a quick look at Zayn for that, because last year, it would have made him frown. But he isn't now. Although that may be because it's very hard to frown when the world's cutest puppy is napping on your knee.

George has put together different flavors of hot chocolate mix for everybody, from the standard mint for JJ to a raspberry-hot pepper concoction he's created for Niall. He beams as Niall immediately gets up to put the kettle on to make a cup.

One by one, they present their gifts to the group, and then after Zayn gives a mix to everyone except Jaymi, he coughs and hands Piccolo back to Ella. She tucks him into her cardigan to keep warm nestled right up against her, and Piccolo yips once, drowsily, before shaking his little tail and falling asleep again.

"I didn't make you a mix," Zayn tells Jaymi, his neck craned to look at him. His voice is soft, and he looks embarrassed to be doing this in front of everyone. "I, uh, I got you something else."

Jaymi smiles at Zayn, and the room is quiet, except for the rustling of gift paper and the soft sound of the kettle heating. "Yeah, what's that, then?"

The package Zayn presents has been crudely wrapped, partially because he's awful at wrapping but also because he can't have had very long to do it. "I hope you like it," says Zayn, as Jaymi's fingers brush his when he takes it.

JJ and Niall look at each other as Jaymi starts to tear off the paper.

The paper falls away to reveal a VHS tape, the cover depicting a massive, quirky looking cricket. Jaymi doesn't say anything for a long moment, long enough that the others can see when Zayn starts to panic in his head.

Jaymi clears his throat twice before he looks up. "I do love it. It's -- really great, Zayn, _thank you_."

"I thought, because of your tattoo, that's where you said it was from." Zayn's voice has gone even quieter. "It's from that book, so I thought you might like it on, you know, on video."

He coughs. "You probably have a copy, but. Never can have too many. Like a concert bootleg versus a studio recording." He fiddles with the strap of his watch.

"No, I don't have a copy, this is lovely, thank you so much, Zayn." Jaymi gives him a smile that's a bit wobbly, and squeezes the side of Zayn's neck. "Really, thank you."

Jaymi digs under the tree and unearths a much more neatly wrapped gift. "I got you this." He looks around. "I didn't get anything for the rest of you, soz. I'll do the washing up for a month."

Liam and Josh make vague noises of confirmation, but everyone else is just watching with baited breath as Zayn takes the gift, opening it slowly.

Zayn blinks. "Michael Jackson's Moonwalker for Sega Genesis. I didn't even know this _existed_." He starts laughing, his head thrown back. "Oh my god."

"I don't really know what you do in the game, but it made me think of you." Jaymi clears his throat, lips twitching.

"I can only hope that they recreate it for Wii so I can put my dancing skills to work," Zayn says. He pats Jaymi's leg, next to him. "Thank you."

"Yeah, of course." Jaymi puts his hand on top of Zayn's and squeezes, once. "I'm glad you like it."

Zayn nods and looks down at his hands, turning the cartridge over and over. "I look forward to playing it someday."

"Well, you can play it right now, can't you?" Jaymi smiles at him. "Just get the Sega out, we can all laugh at the graphics."

"That's my cure," JJ says.

"Cue," corrects Niall.

"Right, yes, my cue," says JJ. He reaches into the paper bag behind his chair and unearths a plain cardboard box, which he passes to Zayn. "Your gift?"

"Uh, thanks?" Zayn says, accepting the box and ripping the tape off the top to look inside. He frowns. "What's this? I can't accept this back, you know I can't."

"Yeah, sure, it's fine," JJ says. "It's of no value to me, but it's a lot for you. And speaking of -- " he reaches into the bag again and produces a slimmer box. "For Jaymi."

"What've you done?" Jaymi asks suspiciously, but he takes the box anyway. He tears the paper down the front and sighs. "Jayj, you can't. I don't have anything else to give you."

"I don't need anything," JJ insists. George and Harry look at each other in confusion, and Josh shrugs, lost, to Louis. Ella is preoccupied with Piccolo scratching at her stockings. "It's Christmas. _Be happy_."

"I'll be happy enough without putting you out," Jaymi tells him with a frown.

"It's really not," JJ says.

Zayn's eyes have been flicking between them, and slowly dawning with realization. "Jaymi, what did you trade in to get me this?" he asks, holding up the Sega game.

Jaymi blushes a little and pulls a tattered children's book out of the box. There's a large, quirky cricket on the cover.

George looks fit to burst as Jaymi says, "Zayn -- what did _you_ trade JJ?"

Zayn tilts the box to show the scattered wires and the Sega console, with two controllers places neatly beside it.

Jaymi's face splits into a wonderstruck, bright-eyed, openhearted grin.

"We're an actual cliche," groans Zayn, lacing his fingers behind his neck, but he's smiling as well, even if he's trying to hide it. "I can't believe this."

"It's that short story," Josh says, snapping his fingers. "I had to read it in school. The Magic Gift, or something."

"The Gift of the Magi," Harry says. "That old married couple who traded their most prized possessions for each other to be happy." He leans across George's lap to flick Zayn's ear. " _Take the hint_."

"Shut up!" Zayn can't reach Harry so does the next best thing and pinches George. He's gone red round the ears and he's not looking anywhere near Jaymi.

"Yeah," Louis says. He knocks his knee pointedly against Josh's beside him, and they leave their thighs touching all along the length from hip to knee. "Take the hint already."

"Alright, alright," Jaymi says, without the smile leaving his face. "Leave us alone. Hey," he says to Zayn, touching the back of his neck. "Stand up a minute."

Zayn stands, and the box with the game console falls out of his lap with a loud enough thump that Piccolo startles, yipping, and makes a mad toddling dash out of Ella's lap. He gets as far as Liam before he's caught and shushed, though, and all any of them can do is laugh.

Jaymi brushes imaginary lint from his lap before he stands as well, clears his throat, and nods toward the lamp next to him. "Mistletoe," he says softly.

Zayn swivels his head and levels a glare at Harry. "Your doing, I suppose?"

Harry just looks to the ceiling and whistles a little, as George cackles under his breath beside him.

Harry folds his arms around George's shoulders and brings him in closer so they're nested like spoons, toes tucked together, and George rests his head back against the flat of Harry's chest as the room quiets, stills -- except the puppy trotting in experimental, exploratory circles over the sofa cushion -- and waits for Zayn to choose his move.

He coughs, and turns back to Jaymi, laughing a little. "You're serious?" he says quietly. "Really?"

Jaymi touches two tentative fingers to the silver fern tattoo at the back of Zayn's neck, gently drawing him closer.

The rest of the room erupts into silent cheering when they kiss, Zayn's hand settling on Jaymi's hip and both of their eyes closing, so neither notices the fist pumping or high fives being exchanged.

Once they break apart, startled by the whistling of Niall's tea kettle and the smell of raspberry hot chocolate, Zayn blurts, "Will you come home with me and meet my family?"

Jaymi's eyes go wide but he's nodding already. "For your birthday, what you've been saving for?"

"I have enough for me to go. I'm, I was saving for a second ticket."

The smile blooms on Jaymi's face like he can't believe this is actually happening. "I'd -- yeah, yeah, I'd love to."

Zayn smiles at that, bashful, and ducks his head. Jaymi laughs and sits down again, but pulls at Zayn's arm so that they can share the squashy armchair, pressed together side against side.

They're all together, but everybody's with who they want to be. Ella and Liam are letting the puppy scramble between them, barking in its tiny voice, while Harry and George share kisses and Josh listens to Louis talk about -- something. Niall's returned with his hot chocolate and is trying to convince JJ to have a drink of it.

JJ only acquiesces after Niall plonks himself down across JJ's lap, but in the end, he reaches over to kick Harry's knee where it's wrapped around George's thigh, and he admits that their gift is a good one.

"Did you want me to walk you home, or are you staying the night?" Liam asks Ella quietly. Piccolo growls at an invisible enemy and bats a paw into the air, swatting the end of Ella's long hair.

Ella looks around the room, at all of the fairy lights and tree lopsided with ornaments and the unfinished Christmas torte on the table. Outside the window, great fat snowflakes are falling, piling in soft drapes on the sill.

"I think I'll stay, if it's all the same," she decides, taking his hand and lacing their fingers. Piccolo digs himself a little nest again in her jumper. "Christmas is a time to spend with the people you like best." 

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